


Whadda Freakin’ Jerk! A New York City Love Story… a Sequel?

by bunnymaccool



Series: New York City Assholes [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Major Character Injury, Modern Bucky Barnes, Ridiculous Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Truly... truly ridiculous, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, angst and humor in equal amounts, that's my jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnymaccool/pseuds/bunnymaccool
Summary: Steve Rogers has spent his entire life lonely while being surrounded by people. But this time he's dealing with it in a completely unfamiliar world.  He just wants someone to belong to. Que the smart-mouthed asshole he meets randomly in a coffee shop, their slightly volatile courtship, complete harassment from his teammates... and the worst timed alien invasion ever.Alternative Title:Coupla’ Assholes from Brooklyn with PTSD, and More Balls Than They Have Sense.    - A Thesis by Sam Wilson





	Whadda Freakin’ Jerk! A New York City Love Story… a Sequel?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, Everyone!!!! This is my submission to the Shrunkyclunks BB 2019! It's a sorta? Sequel to the story from last year. 
> 
> This time... STEVE'S POV!!! I had a FAB time writing this, so I hope y'all love it as much as I do! You don't necessarily need to read the first one to enjoy this one. They are 2 different points of view on the same events. (Although this story has about 10k more words and a whole bunch of extra scenes.) I love both versions equally, so I hope you give them both a chance! Thanks for reading!
> 
> A bazillion THANKS YOU'S to my Beta reader and BFF, Kay!!! If I can make you laugh, I figure I've done something right! 
> 
> Also, another bazillion THANK YOU'S to my artist, [@tallihoozoo](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo) WHO IS FREAKING AMAZING!!! AND MADE AN AMAZING PIECE OF ART!!!! 
> 
> ... oh... um, WARNING? My characters curse. A LOT.

** Whadda Freakin’ Jerk! A New York City Love Story… a Sequel? **

**** *****

**__**_‘Get out of the tower and go re-discover the city. Step away from work for a couple hours and try to act like a normal goddamn human being.’_ All great advice provided with a sarcastic tone and hand-flailing flourish from one Tony Stark. And hey, Steve gets it… the idea of it is totally helpful, and for anyone else it would probably be spot on, exactly what they needed… but it’s a little more difficult for Captain America. 

No matter how much he tries to disguise himself, the hats, the glasses, the clothes… there will always be a percentage of New Yorkers that he doesn’t fool. But sometimes that’s okay… because as true New Yorkers do, they still ignore him for the most part. _(The tourists are a completely different matter.)_ It's his third day in a row of being kicked out of the tower to “stop sulking and get some fucking sunshine”… which Steve takes total offense to. He gets plenty of sunshine, thanks. Well… more so when he was still living in D.C. and had freedom to jog about and ride his motorcycle whenever he felt like it, but now most of Sam’s time has been taken up with his new VA post and the noose of the Government watchdog is slowly tightening around Steve’s neck. 

They’re on the fourth iteration of the Sokovia Accords, and he knows that eventually there will have to be some compromises made between both parties. There has already been a number of screaming matches between the members of the Avengers, and Steve is trying really hard to be open to both sides of the debate… but just as it has been for his entire life… it’s easier to bend steel than it is to change the ideals of Mrs. Rogers’ only son. He knows he’s too obstinate about some things… but _dammit…_ he’d had enough of being a government dancing monkey back in the 40s. The idea of doing it again just doesn’t sit right. 

He’s still grumbling and grouching about it in his head when he finally takes stock of his location, and realizes he has no idea which area of town he’s in. A quick 360 spin on his heels provides a glimpse of the Avengers Tower just barely peeking over the tops of the buildings across the street. _Huh_. He’s either been walking far longer than he’d originally thought… or moving at a pace much faster than he’d intended. With a quick glance around, he makes sure no one is eyeing him in speculation… his gaze catches on a cute little coffee shop that seems pretty popular with the commuters bustling about. Figuring he really doesn’t have a reason not to, he pulls the brim of his hat down further over his eyes and steps into the tiny shop. 

The atmosphere is warm and cozy inside. There’s an obvious attempt for the decoration to resemble some kind of 1920’s speakeasy… but it’s failing on several levels. Steve doesn’t mind the inaccuracies, though, the place has a nice atmosphere to it. He speculates on coming back with a sketchbook and attempting to capture the soul of the place. The line at the counter is about six people long, so he steps up into queue and eyes the chalkboard menu. There’s an attempt at Art Nouveau style to it… which isn’t the correct time period at all, but it looks pretty attractive. He has a quick fantasy about offering to redesign it for them in a more time appropriate Art Deco design, but the last thing he needs is some kind of “Captain America: Art Snob?” label being foisted upon him. _(More's the pity.)_

During his impromptu interior design thought spiral, he doesn’t realize that he’s been moving up the line until suddenly there’s a counter and a very young barista right before him, and Steve flounders for a second. He only manages to get out some pathetic version of an “Ummm…” when the girl’s eyes widen in recognition and she actually drops the cup and marker in her hands. Steve can feel the pink of a blush flushing his cheeks when she lets out an embarrassing squeak of a sound. He clears his throat and smiles in the warmest manner he’s able. 

“Hi… hi there…”

She squeaks again, and by this time the other two young women behind the counter have noticed her reaction and turned their gazes his direction as well. Suddenly they’re all standing right before him, blushing and smiling, full of nervous giggles of embarrassment that Steve can relate to deep down in his soul. Clint would say something about ‘MOOD’... which is modern vernacular that Steve is still working on understanding. Damn his fair skin, he can feel the blush tipping even his ears a color. Situations like these still make him highly uncomfortable. Natasha calls it something like ‘secondhand embarrassment’ and Steve finds that highly apropos. 

Peripherally, his hearing picks up a low muttering voice and a couple curse words from behind him, but he doesn’t really pay them any mind. He’s still trying to convince his mouth to just open up and order a goddamn coffee already before the three baristas burst from all the nervous excitement they’re exuding. He smiles again and opens his mouth to speak… but another voice beats him to it. 

“Hey, asshole! Would you mind knocking off all the damn flexing and place your order already? Judging by the ridiculous width of your shoulders, I’m sure your pecs are impressive and all, but some of us are on a damn time schedule here.”

For a single second, Steve Rogers finds himself completely stunned stupid by the words that have piped up from behind him. The voice is deep, and nice, and when he does finally spin around to take in the speaker of said voice… _holy cow!_ _The package isn’t bad, either!_ Shaggy chestnut hair that falls to the man’s shoulders, impressive stubble that darkens his jawline and accents the plush, wide lips of his mouth. Stormy blue eyes crowned by thick brows, turned down in a slight glare that is directed unflinchingly in Steve’s direction. The other man isn’t dwarfed in any way by Steve’s size, like many are, a beefiness about him that is definitely appealing. Steve finds his mouth stuttering out words without asking permission from his brain first. 

“I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I don’t...”

The man groans out a sigh bordering on ridiculously theatrical, and it STILL doesn’t detract from his attractiveness. Steve should really be ashamed for finding himself immediately besotted… _but fuck it. He totally is. And he totally doesn’t care._

“Look pal, no harm done… but I got about three minutes until I’m going to miss my bus and I’d really like some freakin’ coffee, okay?”

Steve responds with a potentially humiliating bobble-headed nod before he steps back away from the counter, and it’s only then when his gaze catches on the empty sleeve pinned up where a left arm should be. He’s pretty sure that he should have a more visceral reaction to this fact than the _‘huh’_ that crosses his mind. Now that he thinks about it, the manner in which the other man holds himself screams ex-military, and Steve’s brain suddenly supplies _‘I want to know his story. I want to know everything about him’._.. and it stuns him with the truth of the thought. 

“I’m so sorry. Order what you want. It’s on me. I… I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

And, _oh God_ , he can tell instantly that it was the exact wrong thing to say. The other man’s gaze sharpens even further, and he seems to subconsciously puff himself up, swaying closer to Steve with absolute fire in his eyes. 

“I don’t need you to do anything besides get out of my way. I’m missing an arm, I’m not missing a pension. So, do you mind?”

Somewhere, buried down deep, skinny little asthmatic 95lb Steve Rogers perks his head up… and if he had a goddamn tail, he’s pretty sure it would be wagging like a maniac. He completely misses the next couple minutes of conversation between the other man and the baristas. His mind is far too occupied by the way the man just verbally tore him down with no fear and no hesitation. If he recognizes Steve at ALL, he’s doing an amazing job of masking that fact. 

In his head, he can hear Sam laughing, clear as a bell, and telling him how messed up he is to be so viscerally, instantly attracted to a random asshole telling him off in the middle of a public coffee shop. But Sam doesn’t understand… Steve hasn’t ever explained to him… about his imaginary friend growing up. Tiny, sickly, _lonely_ Steve Rogers used to sit by himself out on the fire escape in the summer heat and imagine the perfect best friend he wanted to have. He’d named him Jimmy in his mind, and Jimmy was the absolute best at _everything_. All the girls loved him. All the boys respected him. He would defend Steve with all the seriousness of a beaten dog, and walk through life with the carefree swagger of an alley cat. 

Jimmy was such an idolized ideal in Steve’s mind that even his mother would ask after him… as if he was a real person. As if he was a physical manifestation of Steve’s desperate desire to have a best friend. Sarah Rogers would ask if Jimmy walked him home from school today, or if Jimmy wanted anything special for dinner. Up until his mother began to really fall ill, Jimmy was a constant companion in the Rogers household. And his mother never judged him for it… never made fun of him and demanded he stop. When Steve was ill and she needed to go to work, she would kiss him goodbye and then say, “Jimmy, you make sure to keep a close eye on our boy now, d’ya hear? Make sure he takes his medicine and gets some good rest.” Young Steve would smile, and try to laugh, and love his mother intensely for her playing along. 

Steve finally snaps out of his stupor when the attractive man takes a step away from the counter and closer into Steve’s own vicinity. He swallows so harshly that he can feel his throat click, and everything inside him is suddenly demanding that he not allow this person to walk right back out of his life. And Captain America has made a goddamn career out of following gut feelings. Steve Rogers isn’t about to stop now. He tips his head down and gentles his voice in an apologetic manner. 

“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m sorry if you thought I did.”

The other man rolls his eyes as he takes his coffee from the barista, his… ( _fuck_ )… _extremely_ generous lips fall open slightly as he does so. Steve’s hit with a spike of want punching him in low in his belly. It’s almost a shock to his system… it’s been so long. 

“No sweat, Boy Scout.”

Steve’s internal voice _(which has sounded exactly like Sam Wilson’s for a couple years now)_ screams ‘THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, STEVEN!’… but he mentally hand-waves it away as he finds himself following the other man out into the street as if he’s tethered to him with a leash.

“Please, just let me apologize.”

The other man seems as if he’s about to pop off another insult in Steve’s direction, _which he’s ashamed to admit excites him even further_ , but those stormy eyes catch on something down the block and the next second he’s shouting and running down the crowded sidewalk. Away from Steve. Which… _nope_. 

“OH NO NO NO!!!”

Steve easily keeps pace behind him, infinitely impressed at the man’s ability to run full tilt with a scalding cup a coffee in his hand and not spill a damned drop. He’s pretty sure there’s a dumb, dopey smile on his face as he follows, studiously ignoring the commuters around them that turn to take in the spectacle. He’s also pretty sure the other man doesn’t even notice. 

“DAMMIT! DAMMIT! SHIT!”

When Steve catches up… _(he’d only been lightly jogging, mind you, full speed would have been overkill)_ … he stands a few paces away, not really sure what to say as he watches the man twitch with frustration for a moment. After a few seconds, the man turns toward the bus stop… and freezes when he locks gazes with Steve… still standing there like a big dumbass. 

“Um…”

“Pal, I ain’t a charity case, and I ain’t pissed at you for making me miss my bus, so can we just quit while we’re ahead? You go on your way and I’ll sit here for forty-five minutes drinking my coffee until the next bus arrives and then will attempt to go on with the rest of my day. You’re mighty pretty to look at, but I’m afraid I just ain’t in the mood for company at the minute.”

Oh god, he’s blushing… Steve can FEEL himself begin to redden across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. _The fuck. The FUCK? How do people flirt in the 21st century?_ Has he done it before? He isn’t sure… he doesn’t think so? _FUCK, how do you flirt with a MAN in the 21st century?_ That’s definitely a new one to Steve. Couldn’t risk it in the 40s… might’ve gotten beaten to death in the wrong places. He had never tried. _(Although he had dearly wanted to, at the time… but then there had been Peggy… and then he hadn’t cared.)_

During his tiny internal meltdown, Steve realizes he’s beginning to draw more attention that he’s comfortable with at the moment. He takes a couple steps closer to the other man, heart hammering hard in his chest and still flushed red as a tomato, he’s pretty sure. 

“I… yeah, okay. I just wanted to say sorry. I really didn’t mean to–”

“For fuck’s sake, I accept your apology, Mr. Boy Scout! Now will you leave me alone?”

…

His brain just… freezes… for a beat of time. The Tony Stark voice that sometimes pops up in his mind starts screaming about ‘THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH’... which Steve vaguely understands the concept of… but he’d never witnessed any of Stark’s computers actually DO. _Oh, God. Oh, God, he’s SMITTEN._ He is completely off the rails SMITTEN with this random, beautiful, mouthy jerk he’s only just met. _Oh God, Sam is going to give him ‘disappointed face’ isn’t he?_

There’s a tilt to the other man’s mouth, though, that teases at the humor poking through the raised voice. And his eyes have a light of appreciation within them. _Unfairly beautiful. Asshole New Yorker. God, he’s 15-year-old Steve Rogers’ wet dream come to life._ Almost unconsciously, Steve finds himself slipping back into Brooklyn like a warm sweater. His mouth is speaking before his brain completely catches up. 

“You really are an asshole, you know that? And my name is Steve… not Boy Scout or whatever other insulting things you’ve probably been calling me in your head.”

The other man takes a sip of his coffee, and Steve wonders if he realizes that he’s practically radiating delight with his whole face. It’s a mighty attractive look. 

“Takes an asshole to know an asshole, Mr. Asshole. Now get outta my face.”

Steve doesn’t even try to stop the smirk, lets it reign freely as he slips his sunglasses back on and turns to walk away. He might even, possibly, add a little more swagger into his steps as he goes… _please GOD don’t let Tony find out._ He’s five blocks past the coffee shop when he stops dead in his tracks with the urge to slam his head against the brick wall of the building beside him. He WALKED. AWAY. He didn’t get a… a number… or an email… or whatever people ask for nowadays. He didn’t even ask for the other man’s name. 

“DAMMIT!”

He turns back and damn near sprints to the coffee shop. When he darts in through the doors, all the baristas perk up. The crowd seems to have dispersed for the moment, so he sheepishly heads back to the counter. The three young women have all managed to squish together tightly in the small space between the espresso machine and the register. Their smiles are just on the edge of too wide, but Steve’s kind of gotten used to that by now. 

“Hey, hi... hi... Um… I’m sorry about before. I wasted your time and didn’t even order anything.”

The three women immediately began to shake their heads and profusely assure him it was fine, and he feels bad interrupting them… but he’s on a damn mission.

“So, that… that gentlemen… that I spoke to? With the…”

He motions awkwardly towards his left arm, and almost immediately wants to punch himself in the face for it. _Fuck… he really is out of his mind today, isn’t he?_ The ladies are nodding along with this words, though, so he continues. 

“Is he a regular? Does he come here often?”

The original girl from the register shakes her head negatively, and Steve feels a pit sink into his gut. _Dammit, he might have really screwed this up._ Then he gets an idea. It may be silly, and a little childish… but from one asshole to another… he’s pretty sure it might work. 

“Do you have gift cards?”

*****

The next couple days are hell. Okay, well not _really_ Hell… because that moniker definitely belongs to the front line of WWII. Literal Hell there. However… _however…_ the next couple days are a bit of emotional hell… as he slips away twice a day to the coffee shop… _(Tony has never looked so pleased with him)_ … to ask the baristas if his beautiful jerk has reappeared. Steve swears that every time he walks in through the doors all hopeful, whichever barista happens to be behind the counter just deflates with sadness when there’s no update for him. He tries really hard not to mimic a kicked puppy TOO much when he slinks back out of the shop. He’s also been drinking so many iced Americanos that he thinks the caffeine may actually be affecting him at this point. _(But he feels too guilty to leave the coffee shop without purchasing something.)_

His teammates have no idea what’s going on… but Barton keeps sending him sad faced emojis followed by about three dozen question marks. Steve isn’t sure why people in this highly advanced society have decided to regress to communication via pictures and memes… _(fuck you, Tony, he knows what memes are)_ … but every once in a while, Steve just wants to have a goddamn adult conversation on a phone without any frowning cats, Grandpa references, or eggplant emojis. _(Whatever the hell THAT is supposed to refer to. Judging by Barton’s cackled glee… he doesn’t really want to know.)_

Sam’s been so busy with his new VA recently, that Steve hasn’t had much time to catch up with him. Of all his friends, Sam’s the only one that Steve would talk to about this whole thing. He trusts him to be supportive, understanding, and to laugh right in Steve’s face with love… not judgement. Or god forbid, _disappointment_. He’s not sure if anyone at the tower is homophobic… and he’s not completely sure he’s ready to find out. He knows Tony isn’t, because he’s TONY... and his entire life and nearly every opinion he’s ever had during it has been plastered, quoted, and bastardized all over the damn internet. 

So, no… Tony won’t judge him. And he’s pretty sure _(99.9% sure)_ that none of the others would either... But he’s a product of the era he grew up in. Speaking of these things, let alone acting on them, was liable to get you beaten, jailed, or killed. There were areas that you could find relative safety in New York… but it was never guaranteed. Well, he supposes that can still be said of modern times, as well. _Dammit…_ he’s spiraling himself down a sadness drain. _Bleh_. 

He suddenly, desperately, wants to speak with Sam. 

His phone is in his hand before he can dissuade himself from calling. He’s on his floor in the tower, sitting morosely on the couch and feeling an itchy sort of complacency. He starts picking absently at his bottom lip as the line rings a couple times before connecting. 

“You better not be bleeding out somewhere.”

Steve laughs, and even to his own ears it sounds a little dark and strained. Sam immediately picks up on the tone. 

“That includes bleeding out emotionally.”

With a sigh and a _‘whomp,’_ Steve flops sideways on his couch. He is forever grateful for finding Sam Wilson and having him permanently in his life. Sam isn’t quite Imaginary Jimmy… but he’s pretty damn close. 

“Why do you assume I’m doing either of those things?”

Sam chuckles and shifts something on the other end of the line. There’s a smacking sound of metal hitting concrete. 

“I am going on the assumption that it is almost group time, and your all American ass knows better than to call me during group time.”

Steve’s eyes flick over to the clock above the mantle. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Sam… I’ll let you–”

“Nu-uh-uh, Captain-Martyr-Complex, you have ten minutes and something is obviously eating at you… so hop to it… tell Dr. Wilson what’s wrong.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shifts on the couch to get a little more comfortable. 

“So… I may have done… something.”

Sam sighs. 

“You do many somethings all day long, Steve. What is the particular something that is bothering you at this exact moment? Nine minutes and ticking.”

Steve groans and rushes the whole thing out as fast as he can in one long sentence. Sam makes all the appropriate acknowledging noises, doesn’t even react at all when Steve brings up the fact that the random, beautiful stranger he’s flipping out over is a man, and gives Steve a judgmental _‘tsk’_ when he admits that he screwed up with the whole accidentally offending the man with the offer to buy his purchase for him. When he pauses for a breath, Sam interjects in a voice that isn’t quite his disappointed parent voice, but bordering on his VA counselor tone. 

“Steve, man, I know you have this overly helpful complex when it comes to people you think need it… but Vets, particularly disabled Vets, we still have our pride, you know? You push too hard, or come on too strong with the pity vibes and we’re gonna shut you down every time. I know that you know this… I think you may have just been thrown by a pretty face. I assume it was a pretty face? The first person to really catch your eye since the illustrious Agent Carter must be something special.”

Steve sighs… and it even sounds ridiculously lovelorn to _him_. 

“Oh wow, Sam, yeah. Amazing face… amazing everything… but his eyes just. Wow, yeah. I don’t even know how to describe that color blue. You should’ve heard him snap back at me, too. All Brooklyn in that voice. And he wasn’t intimidated or scared of me at all. Just stood right up to me like I wasn’t anything special. He’s not much smaller than me, either, and he was like… thick.”

Sam suddenly howls with delighted laughter. 

“Please never use that phrase again, but thank you so much for saying it to me so that I can never let you live it down. Ever.”

With a huff of good-humored laughter, Steve finishes the tale of his handsome stranger. Explains how upset he was with himself for letting the man walk right back out of his life without a way to see him again. Then he sheepishly admits to Sam what he did with the coffee shop and how many times he’s gone back in to check with the baristas, to his utter dismay. He tells Sam what he left written on the gift card, as well. Which makes Sam ugly snort with laughter. 

“If this is your idea of entertainment, you definitely need to get out more.”

Steve groans and tries to defend himself. 

“No, Sam, you don’t get it… he was like… perfect. Especially the way he called me out for being an asshole. That was the best part.”

He doesn’t even need to see him to know that Sam is rolling his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, yeah… oh, trust me, I get it… he sounds like an absolute charmer.”

Steve gushes about the handsome stranger for a few more moments, because he knows Sam gets it. They’ve talked about it before. How people treat Steve. How he would prefer for them to treat him as if he were just any regular Joe on the street, not like a figurehead … or some flawless ideal. It rankles him something awful every time he’s cow-towed to… instead of met halfway. 

He pauses when he hears Sam give a thoughtful noise over the line. In the background, Steve can make out the sounds of another person in the room, and then Sam sucks in a gasp of breath. Not panicked, necessarily… but surprised. 

“Sam?”

His friend answers in a slightly out of breath voice, obviously walking quickly somewhere in the VA as he speaks. 

“I hear you, man. I’ve changed my mind. You two jerks sound like you’re meant to be.” 

Steve startles.

“Well… I mean… I don’t know about that, necessarily, but it might be… good? I think I’d really just like the opportunity to find out.”

“Uh huh. Oh yeah… I believe it.”

Now Sam is definitely distracted by something, and there’s a tone to his words like he is almost definitely bordering on hysterical laughter. Steve’s not hurt by it, Sam would never intentionally hurt his feelings, but he admits he’s a little confused. 

“Sam? Do you gotta go now? You okay?”

There’s a soft laugh and a sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Yes to both of those questions. But, Steve, seriously… I’m proud of you. For taking steps, you know? Getting out of the Tower and finding something that interests you, and pursuing it. I’m not going to tell you that it’ll work out, because that isn’t something I can predict, but I can tell you that I think you should go for it. If even this small fragmented _idea_ of this guy makes you as happy as you’ve sounded on the phone these last ten minutes, then you have my utter support. Go find this dude and flirt your red white and blue socks off.”

Steve snorts.

“He might not be interested. He might not… be gay? Or Bi? Or… date big dumb blondes?”

Now Sam makes a noise that Steve knows all too well … it’s _definitely_ disappointed face. 

“Well, it’s a good thing he hasn’t _met_ a big dumb blonde, isn’t it? And if he doesn’t date dudes… then you make a new _friend_ , Cap. And you skip off into the sunset like the annoying assholes from Brooklyn that you both are. Don’t defeat yourself until you try. And don’t call yourself dumb. That’s my best friend you’re talking about. And the ‘greatest tactical genius of his generation.’”

Steve shifts on the couch until he’s curled on his side and his face is practically plastered into the back cushions. Something warm and heavy flutters in his stomach at Sam’s words… and he’s… he’s _happy_. 

“Thanks, Sam. Sorry to bother you.”

Sam laughs softly over the line. 

“You’re never a bother, Steve. Now go check your coffee shop. Something tells me you might have some good news today.”

He’s about to ask Sam what he means, but the line goes dead and he knows group is about to start… so he really can’t call and bother him again. Sam takes his duties at the VA very seriously, and that part of him is so intrinsic to the person that Sam Wilson is… the person that Steve trusted to protect Natasha and himself… that Steve always makes sure to never interrupt Sam’s time there. 

He shifts just enough to carefully toss his phone onto the coffee table, and then he turns back to shove his face deep into the ridiculously soft throw pillow that had appeared randomly one day on his couch. There’s a crazy mix of emotions flooding through him at the moment, and he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to land. Sam made him feel hopeful… but there’s also a hefty amount of fear there. Excitement for the possibilities. Dread for the potential disappointment. 

He screams into the pillow… and then abruptly starts laughing at the absurdity of the action. 

JARVIS’ voice pops up from ceiling. 

“Are you well, Captain? Do you need assistance?”

Steve sighs and pulls his face away from the soft material. 

“I’m fine, JARVIS, thanks. Just lamenting on the human condition.”

JARVIS sighs, and as always, Steve is thrown by how damned human Tony’s AI can be.

“In my limited experience so far, Captain, I find the human condition to be ‘slight wear and tear, minor water damage, but still retaining its value.’”

Steve makes a contemplative sound. 

“Well, you’re not wrong, but most of your experience has been Tony Stark and the Avengers.”

JARVIS replies with a sardonic lilt to his voice. 

“Indeed. As such, my point still stands.”

That brings a smile to Steve’s face, and he laughs softly as he pulls himself back up to a seated position on the couch. 

“Noted.”

He takes a deep breath and decides to takes Sam’s advice and head to the coffee shop once again, tries desperately not to get his hopes up the entire walk there… but as soon as he walks in the door, it’s obvious that something is different. It’s Stacey behind the counter again, and as soon as she spots him the young barista starts flailing so frantically that Steve’s honestly afraid she might hurt herself. 

_(He still double-times it over to the cash register, though.)_

Stacey is all bubbly smiles today. 

“He came by! He was here this morning!”

Steve’s heart immediately punches itself against his ribcage and he swears that his toes actually start to tingle in his sneakers. 

“H-he was?”

All three baristas present nod excitedly at him, huge grins on their faces and eyes shining with obvious excitement. Stacey reaches beneath the counter and grabs a large to-go cup. Steve can see that something is written on it in black sharpie, but she slips it out of his sight quickly and hands it off to one of the other baristas. They’re all grinning like loons, and Steve’s eyebrows begin to drift upwards in confusion. 

“What’s going on?”

Stacey just shakes her head in response and smiles at him. Together, she and Steve watch the other barista making a coffee behind the espresso machine. Steve isn’t as familiar with the modern coffee concoctions as his compatriots… but it sure seems like there’s an awful lot of things being pumped and mixed into that cup. There’s some whip cream sprayed and some… sprinkles?... thrown on top… and then the suspicious beverage is being presented to him carefully… black writing facing out for him to read. 

_‘As black as your soul, as sweet as your ass’_ is precisely written in neat block letters and Steve can’t even begin to keep the laugh that bursts out of him at bay. He can feel his face flush as he reaches for the cup. 

“He did this?”

Stacey smiles again and nods, and they all three watch him unblinkingly as Steve takes a careful sip. It’s so cloyingly sweet that it makes him cough, and nearly gag, before he swallows it down. The three young people behind the counter are all laughing hysterically in response, and Steve can feel his blush intensify… but he actually doesn’t mind it. It’s all in good-hearted fun… and he’s just so fucking delighted that his gorgeous asshole responded to him at all. He laughs and takes another experimental sip. It’s still horrifically sweet, but he’s determined to drink it, like the completely besotted fool that he is. 

“He’s going to come back, you know.”

Steve swings his gaze back to Stacey and she grins at whatever his face is doing in response to her words. 

“He said that he expected a full report on your reaction… so he’s coming back. He looked really pleased and excited, Captain… sir.”

He swallows down another god-awful sip of sugar and shakes his head at her. 

“Please just call me Steve. He didn’t leave his name, did he? Or… or maybe hint that he knew… who I am?”

Stacey’s smile dims a little as she answers. 

“No, sorry. I can ask if he comes in again, but… you are gonna tell him, right? Who you… I mean…it wouldn’t be fair to–”

Steve holds out a placating hand and softly interrupts the younger woman. 

“I will! I will, I promise! I know it’s a lot to ask, but if he comes back, please don’t tell him. I want to do that myself. If he hasn’t already figured it out, I mean.”

Stacey laughs softly. 

“Captain… um, Steve, sir…if he didn’t recognize you already, I don’t think he’s going to at this point. The hat and glasses don’t really disguise… much? I mean…”

She trails off softly and Steve can feel his face flush again as he shrugs and nods in agreement. He knows. Tony lets him know extremely loudly every time Steve passes him on the way out of the tower, and Natasha always _‘tsks’_ in disappointment at his poor spy skills, or _whatever_. Nothing is going to squash his current giddiness, though, so he simply thanks the baristas for all their help, and leaves the coffee shop sipping on the most disgusting drink he’s ever tasted. 

It feels like he’s walking on air the whole way home. 

*****

It’s been a couple days since he stopped by the coffee shop. He and Sam had been sent off to deal with an out of control Neo-Nazi gathering down south. Honestly, Steve’s not sure if it was actually official Avengers business… or just an early birthday present from Fury. Either way, they had a blast breaking it up. There were images all over the internet. People were already captioning them and creating memes. _(Tony has been forwarding every single one he finds to Steve. Who’s pretty sure at least half of them are actually MADE by Stark, anyway.)_

His favorite so far was a close up of him punching a little dipshit dressed up like Hitler right in the face. There was a massive caption in a white capital letters that said “WHY AM I STILL HAVING TO PUNCH NAZIS?” Because, yeah… he feels that. _He feels that deep down in his soul._

Steve’s definitely glad to be back home in New York, though, ready to try and pick his weak attempt at flirting back up. He’s still tickled pink by the playful response he’d received from the gift card fiasco, and before he was called away he’d been trying every morning to be at the shop around the same time that he met the gorgeous jerk originally. No such luck, but there has been a _sort of_ attempt at communication between them, so he’s damned sure not giving up yet. 

He’s also pretty sure that the team definitely knows something is going on, judging by the amount of side-eyes and little smirks that have been directed his way recently. He knows that Sam would never have told… so that leaves JARVIS. _(Or more specifically, Tony, puttering around through JARVIS’ eyes and ears.)_ Which is so un-surprising that Steve is actually _surprised_ with how much he is NOT surprised. _(Or… something.)_

A rapid movement up the block catches his eye, and Steve has just enough time to recognize the man hurrying at top speed towards the bus stop… when some little shit teenager purposely clips Steve’s favorite jerk on the armless shoulder and the gorgeous Vet goes down HARD. He manages to keep his head from cracking open on the sidewalk, but Steve is already seeing RED and tearing up the street like a rocket. It’s mere seconds after that he’s hefting the little punk into the air by the back of his jacket. The kids eyes immediately widen in recognition and he squeaks in fear. Steve drops immediately into _Captain America is disappointed with you_ face and voice, which Sam and Clint have both assured him are pants-shittingly effective. 

“Is that any way to treat someone, son? Is that how you would want one of your loved ones to be treated?”

The kid probably couldn’t blanch anymore than he already has. 

“N-n-n-n-no, sir.”

Steve gives him a little shake for effect. 

“And what about a Veteran who has served our country? Made personal sacrifices to protect your freedoms? Would you do that to _me_ , son? Would you knock _me_ down in the street?”

The kid shakes his head violently and Steve sets him back down on the ground. 

“Well then, I best believe you should be making your apologies and moving along, don’t you?”

When it’s obvious the teen is about to babble apologies directly at Steve, he shakes his head and indicates the man still lying on the sidewalk with a flick of his eyes. 

“Not to _me_ , son.”

After the teen mutters his sorry and takes off running, Steve offers his hand to his current obsession _(let’s be honest here)_ and tries not to blush like an idiot when his offer is immediately taken. As he pulls the beautiful man to his feet, he loses focus for just a second on the warmth and size of the hand he’s holding, but a flinch of pain mars the pretty features before him, and without his consent his free hand is suddenly stroking through incredibly soft hair, feeling along the scalp towards the back. Even though he knows, for sure, that the other man caught himself before hitting his head… but… well… _opportunities and all that_. 

“Did you hit your head?”

The man’s stormy eyes go wide and dark, but then he slowly steps back a couple paces, and Steve’s left looking like an idiot still reaching out for him. The other man clears his throat and reaches behind himself to rub at his backside. Steve focuses on NOT following the hand to it’s destination, and instead spends about ten seconds too long trying to figure out where the fuck he should put his own hands before he just stuffs them in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. 

“Nah. Head’s okay. Just everything else that hurts.”

Steve nods, and just manages to stop himself from chewing on his bottom lip with nerves. He suddenly realizes that… _holy shit_ … after days brewing about this possibility and waiting and waiting and waiting… they’ve met again. He’s talking to the gorgeous bastard that has absolutely refused to leave his mind in peace. And this time, he’s not leaving without a name… or a number… or something. _Nope. Not again._

“You’re sure you’re okay, though? Nothing busted or bleeding?”

The other man smirks with those sinful lips, and fuck… Steve’s fingers twitch in his pockets with a sudden desire to touch them. 

“Only my ass, Steve. You gonna kiss it and make it better?”

A laugh explodes out from him before he can tamp it down, but he doesn’t mind so much when he notices the delighted look that crosses the other man’s face in response. Steve can feel himself start to blush at this point, and suddenly wishes he’d gotten around to asking someone for 21st century flirting techniques… or maybe dropped a couple modern romance movies into his list in preparation. His entire life has been a long line of spur of the moment decisions and ‘winging it,’ though… so he might as well keep with tradition. The gorgeous Vet turns toward the bus stop to watch his bus pulling away and sighs. Steve shuffles a step closer. 

“That’s the second bus I’ve made you miss, I think. You gotta let me give you a ride or something this time.”

The other man snorts, _it’s still attractive_ , and turns back to meet Steve’s gaze head on. 

“Pretty sure it was that little dick-nugget that made me miss it this time. Not you.”

This time it’s Steve that snorts, and he probably looks and sounds like a damned water buffalo. ( _So sexy, Rogers, Jesus Christ.)_

“Dick-nugget? That’s… That’s definitely a new one to me.”

The ridiculously good-looking jerk laughs and shifts the bag strapped across his chest and Steve’s mind shorts out for a bit, stuck repeating the words _‘pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty’_ on a loop with his inner voice. _(That for once actually sounds like himself, not some other Avenger.)_

“Always happy to broaden someone’s vocabulary. Although I’m pretty sure that’s a Barnes original. So you’re offering me a ride, huh? I don’t see anything around to be used as a proper chariot for one such as Steve the Golden Boy.”

BARNES. Barnes. Barnes. Barnes. He’s got a name. Or a partial name. A last name, surely, but dammit it’s a part of a name and 100% more information than Steve previously had… and he’s so fucking happy and charmed by it, that he almost can’t cope with his own ridiculous reaction. Barnes. Yes. Barnes fits. It fits perfectly. Barnes. _Fuck. (Stop acting like a besotted moron, Rogers.)_ He doesn’t even react to the Golden Boy comment, because he doesn't. Fucking. Care. 

“I, uh, I have a motorcycle around the block. I’d be happy to drop you off somewhere.”

Barnes _(Steve internally coos giddily)_ snorts again, loudly… and it STILL doesn’t detract from his beauty. 

“Yeah. No. I’ve lost enough limbs for one lifetime. Not up to adding brain trauma to the list either.”

With that, Barnes ( _*glee*_ ) turns to walk back toward the coffee shop and Steve immediately follows him. He can practically hear Tony calling him a lovesick puppy, but then Tony’s never seen his own damned face whenever Pepper walks into a room, so Tony can shut the hell up. Well… _internal_ Tony that… lives in Steve’s brain. ( _Yeah, okay, moving on.)_

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a great driver. The bike is only as dangerous as the user.”

Barnes turns his head and gives Steve the most obvious head to toe and back once-over that Steve has ever received in his life. ( _And he spent months around chorus girls._ ) He can feel his face flush with heat. He can also feel his dick twitch with interest in his pants, dammit. 

“I’d say that makes it pretty dangerous indeed.”

The next several minutes are a study in embarrassment for Steve. The baristas mostly hold their composure when they see both he and Barnes walk in the door, although Stacey clearly almost loses it in excitement. And he gets it, if it were any more obvious how stupid besotted Steve was with this guy it would be pathetic. It probably _IS_ pretty pathetic. The baristas probably lament about poor _pathetic_ Captain America, coming in every _pathetic_ morning hoping for some _pathetic_ scrap of _pathetic_ acknowledgement from a man he literally only met one time. ( _Damn… he should probably slow down with the pathetics. He’s giving himself a complex.)_

He reacts mostly on instinct for the short conversation, his mind too busy swirling itself down the drain of self-flagellation. He only really resurfaces when Barnes turns to walk out the door, and the invisible leash snaps to… Steve scurrying out behind the other man. He’s probably still reeling, honestly, about the fact that they’ve actually met again. They’re kind of replaying the entire original meeting in a similar, but alternative manner, and Steve’s still just so fucking delighted to have the chance that he would probably be more self-conscious of his actions … if he actually, _actively_ gave a damn. 

  


It takes him a couple seconds to realize that they’re currently making their way to the bus stop. 

“I guess that’s a definitive ‘no’ on the ride, then, huh?”

Barnes’ generous lips smirk while they sip at his coffee cup, and that … _does things_ … to Steve. 

“Lemme paint a story for you, Stevie–”

_(Oh Jesus. Oh Fuck. Stevie? No one would dare. No one would… Barnes definitely doesn’t realize who he’s speaking to. He can’t right? It would be… it’s so… oh FUCK… Steve kinda loves it.)_

“–imagine, if you will… a man with only one arm. And a very large, very hot, cuppa’ coffee riding on the back of a two-wheeled death machine. How would you suppose that would go, eh?”

Steve smirks and steps up close to the other man as they continue to stroll, casually, towards the bus stop.

“You didn’t have the coffee when I offered you the ride.”

Barnes gasps with over-exaggerated drama, eyes wide and lips parted enticingly. 

“Didn’t I? Well, whaddya know? It’s almost like I was trying to find a way not to have to accept an offer to climb on the back of a motorcycle with a man I don’t know.”

Steve shifts so that he can turn and walk backwards before Barnes and catch every little flit of emotion that crosses his unfairly beautiful face. 

“How much more would you need to know me to take a ride with me, then?”

“Hmm… depends, I guess. Where exactly would we be riding to? My work isn’t far enough away to justify the effort, really.”

Steve pulls up his metaphorical britches and just decides to fucking go for it. He hopes that Sam will be proud of him. 

“Okay. How ‘bout somewhere else, then? Around the city? Or to the beach? Or something?”

Barnes actually freezes in his tracks, completely uncaring about the other commuters swarming around them, so Steve steps up close, hoping his size will keep them shielded from the rushed New Yorkers. Barnes eyes are wide, with what appears to be surprise? _Hopefully the good kind._ And his face is slightly flushed. He’s meeting Steve’s gaze steadily, but Steve’s pretty sure there’s a touch of uncertainty hiding behind those stormy blues. 

“Oh yeah, Stevie? Your choice. Where you wanna take me?”

Steve can feel himself blushing all over. The nickname… in _that_ voice… coming from _that_ mouth. Barnes might as well just reach directly into Steve’s pants and grab hold. 

“Um… I’ve been meaning to go check out the High Line for a while. There’s supposedly some really great street art and all sorts of vendors and things. Would that be… I mean… would you be interested in coming along?”

Barnes takes his time in answering, obviously enjoying making Steve wait, which gets him an eyeroll. But then the stunning bastard licks at his own bottom lip in a display that is practically indecent for a public street… and Steve should probably start thinking of very unsexy things right about now. 

“Yeah. That sounds like fun. I might take you up on that offer.”

_(Elation. Glee. Holy shit, this is happening.)_

“Yeah?”

Barnes smiles and it’s… wow. 

“Yeah. Gimme your phone, ya putz.”

He laughs. He can’t help it. He’s just so fucking happy. So much so that he’s already pulled his phone out of his pocket and swapped it with the coffee cup that Barnes is holding before he remembers… it’s his Avengers phone. It’s… a little more … _everything…_ than any other Stark phone on the market. Barnes just stares at the little device for a moment before he looks back up at Steve with raised eyebrows. 

“What the hell, Steve?”

A nervous laugh punches right out of him, and he steps up even closer to Barnes. 

“Sorry, yeah… it’s… um… new contact.”

The phone beeps, and thank _fuck_ , JARVIS is keeping quiet. 

“Say your name.”

Barnes raises his gaze to meet Steve’s again, and there’s a silent moment between them before he speaks. 

“Bucky Barnes.”

Steve’s heart thumps hard in his chest. ( _Bucky Barnes… that’s… that’s a great fucking name.)_ And it somehow fits the other man perfectly. It’s a little playful, a little sexy, and a hell of a lot of Brooklyn. He wants to repeat it out loud … _immediately…_ about twenty times… but that would definitely not be in the realm of appropriate. ( _Or sane either, probably.)_ Bucky Barnes. Wow. Steve kinda loves it. He clues back in and realizes that Bar–... that Bucky ( _*glee*_ ) is still eyeing the phone with speculation, eyebrows raised and clearly asking Steve to explain. He clears his throat and stutters out an answer. 

“I… I work with Stark. Industries. Kind of.”

 _Dammit_. JARVIS better keep mum on this… he would NEVER hear the end of it from Tony. Bucky seems to accept his explanation, and they return to walking toward the bus stop. 

“Well, there you go, mister golden boy. You’ve got my digits… we’ll see what you do with them, huh?” 

Steve takes a single fortifying breath. 

“Can I text you? Would you mind?”

Bucky winks at him, and Steve almost trips. 

“Text away, Stevie. No unsolicited dick pics, please, but anything else is fair game.”

 _Don’t go there. Don’t go there. Don’t go there._ He resolutely refuses to allow himself to think about dicks in relation to Bucky Barnes as they’re walking down a public street. ( _Think of the fucking children, Steve.)_ He goes with mock outrage instead. 

“I would never–do people actually really do that?”

Before Bucky can answer, the bus is pulling up. He shoots Steve an absolutely wicked grin and double-times it to the stop. 

“Talk to ya later, Stevie!”

He watches as Bucky boards the bus and moves towards the back to settle himself in a seat. Steve doesn’t even consider leaving yet. He’s ridiculous. He KNOWS he’s fucking ridiculous, okay? But then Bucky notices him, so Steve waves… and Bucky responds in kind and there are butterflies beginning to dance low in Steve’s belly, so he just lets the grin threatening his lips take over his face and watches the bus until it’s completely out of sight. 

He’s on cloud nine the entire way back to the coffee shop, endures the delighted squeals and bubbling chatter of the baristas, and orders what will hopefully be his last iced Americano for a while… probably. Maybe. _(They’rereallyfreakinggood.)_ By the time he reaches his Harley Steve has chugged down the coffee and convinced himself that there is no way Bucky just agreed to a date. Steve just couldn’t be that lucky. 

When he steps into the private elevator of the tower he’s hovering at about 50% deranged excited madman… and 50% nervous wreck that isn’t quite convinced that the last hour wasn’t some hyper-detailed hallucination brought on by the, _frankly staggering_ , amount of coffee he’s been drinking recently. He’s also pretty sure he’s grinding his teeth so loudly that the security guard’s confused head tilt was in response to the noise. The doors swish closed, and JARVIS’ voice pipes up immediately. 

“Captain Rogers, if I may suggest? The expression on your face is slightly… unsettling... perhaps I can stop the elevator by the spa level for you?”

Steve forces the tension out of his shoulders, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, allows his posture to slouch forward and relax. 

“I’m good, JARVIS, thanks. Just had an exciting morning, is all.”

“Indeed, Captain. I must apologize, but my systems have already begun a thorough background check on Sergeant Barnes. I’m afraid it is protocol when new contacts are added to the Avenger phone network.”

A delighted smile pops onto Steve’s face. 

“Sergeant?”

“Yes, Captain. I have taken the liberty to route all information gathered into a secure file on the network only to be accessed in case of emergency. I thought that perhaps you would prefer to learn about Sergeant Barnes directly from the source?”

For the millionth time since he moved into the tower, Steve is once again blown away by how real and human JARVIS seems. He has to give credit to Tony’s insane genius. 

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“You are most welcome, Captain Rogers. Would you like me to order an extra large pillow for you to scream into this time around? I can have one screen printed with ‘I heart Bucky Barnes’ on the case for you?”

Steve is still laughing when the doors to the elevator open on his floor. Maybe there’s a little TOO much Tony in JARVIS’ programming after all. 

*****

A handful of hours later, Steve has been kicked out of the training room, the common room, and Tony’s lab for his anxious twitching. He’s back in the common room, though, and the others can just deal with it. Natasha and Barton are playing some extremely violent video game on the massive television and Rhodey is leaning on the breakfast bar drinking coffee and watching Steve pace with far too much amusement. They’ve all been questioning him today about what has him so worked up, but Steve’s been giving deliberately vague answers. 

Finally, he stops and heaves out a massive sigh. He’s accepted his fate. There’s nothing else to be done. He needs answers. 

“How long should I wait before I text someone whose number I got this morning?”

Barton and Nat whip around so quickly that Steve’s actually concerned about the state of their vertebrae. Rhodes has carefully placed his mug on the counter before him, but he almost appears to be vibrating in place with excitement _(judging by the slightly crazed smile on his face)_ and Steve reminds himself for the hundredth time that the man is Tony Stark’s best friend, and therefore his sanity is not to be 100% trusted. 

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS’ voice pipes up from the ceiling, “Mister Stark has requested you pause this conversation until his arrival, which is imminent.”

Steve groans and plops himself down on one of the of the barstools. Natasha and Barton have already paused the game and spun themselves around on the couch, arms now resting along the back, legs tucked beneath them, identical in the annoyingly creepy way that they sometimes behave. There’s thirty seconds of silence before the elevator doors swish open and Tony Stark is rushing into the room, eyes wide, and still holding a soldering gun in one gloved hand. 

“Capsicle! JARVIS says you’re in need of my assistance.”

Steve drops his head back to glare up at the ceiling. 

“Apologies, Captain Rogers, but Mr. Stark insisted he be notified immediately if you ever made a comment requesting guidance regarding a romantic involvement.”

Tony swishes his empty hand quickly at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, yeah, Cap doesn’t need to know all the details, J… but seriously, texting someone? You got some digits in the A.M. and you wanna know how soon is too soon? Are you infatuated? Are you twitterpated? Is everything all aflutter? Can’t stop thinking about her? If any of the above answers are yes, then you text now… you text right now, Cap.”

Steve flips the phone around in his hands several times and hesitates. Rhodes clears his throat from nearby and Steve turns to meet his gaze. 

“You’ve been distracted by something for weeks, Steve. Is it this same woman? You finally asking her out?”

His back has been slowly tensing up with each use of a female pronoun, and Steve really isn’t sure what to do. He’d really like to ask their opinion… Hell, he’d really love to talk about Bucky with all of them, but his head is still stuck in the 40s and knowing what can happen to a man who admits being attracted to another man. 

“Steve?”

He turns toward Natasha’s voice, and realizes he’s been damn near chewing his bottom lip bloody. The others in the room have shifted from delighted to concerned… and Steve steels his nerves and tells himself… _these are his friends_. 

“It’s um… it is the same person… and I did. Ask him out, I mean. This morning.”

The air sucks out of the room for a second, although it feels like so much longer to Steve, and then Rhodey’s grin is widening and he nods in acknowledgment to Steve’s statement.

“Awesome, Cap. And he said yes? Gave you his number?”

Steve nods and it’s a wobbly ridiculous thing, he tells himself he’s not going to tear up over Rhodes’ easy acceptance. A hand lands on his shoulder and Steve turns to find Tony hovering next to him, looking slightly misty-eyed. 

“And how long have you known this young man, Steven? Also, if he’s any less than 80 years old, you realize that you’re robbing the cradle, right, and should totally be ashamed of yourself?”

Steve rolls his eyes and shifts his gaze back towards the couch. Barton is grinning at him and resting his chin on his hands, fluttering his eyelashes in a ridiculous way. Natasha is silently observing, but there’s a tiny uptick of a smile on her lips, and Steve feels the tension in his spine begin to melt away. So he takes a deep breath, and runs through the story with his teammates _(leaving out the humiliating bits, naturally)_. By the time he’s finished, Steve’s 90% sure that at least two people in the room have already started researching Bucky… and he feels guilty, sure… but he also knows he can’t stop them. 

Tony has settled onto the barstool beside him, and he suddenly reaches out to smack at Steve’s knee. 

“Man up, Rogers. Send the text.”

Steve snorts… but decides to follow Stark’s advice for once. 

**__** _Hi. Is this okay? Oh. This is Steve by the way._

**Hi, Steve-by-the-way. This is Bucky. ;P**

The response is almost immediate, and Steve knows he must have a goofy smile on his face from it, because Tony and Rhodes both lean over to read the text. Tony groans and leans back with his elbows on the counter. 

“Really? Texting dad jokes with a centenarian? Your boy should be ashamed of himself.”

Steve choses to respond back to Bucky, rather than acknowledge Tony’s comment. 

_My friend says that’s a dad joke? And that you should be ashamed of yourself._

It takes a couple minutes for the answer to pop up, and Steve realizes that this is the most excited he’s felt about anything since waking up in that fake room, listening to a game broadcast that didn’t make any sense. 

**Oh, Mr. Golden Boy. I live happily shameless. And yes, you texting me is perfectly fine. That’s generally what happens when you get someone’s digits. Unless you’re not actually interested.**

_I’m interested. :)_

Tony makes an excited squeaking sound from where he’s practically hanging over Steve’s shoulder when he types out that response, but Steve wants to make it unmistakingly obvious what he’s looking for from Bucky. No misunderstandings or second guessing. He’s attracted and very interested, and definitely wants the other man to know it. He gets so stuck inside his head for a few minutes on an internal conversation loop regarding how open and honest he can be with Bucky Barnes… that it takes Tony prodding him to realize that he hasn’t received a response to that comment. 

“Shit.”

He glances over at Tony and widens his eyes as imploringly as possible. Tony laughs in response. 

“Why the puppy eyes directed at me, Cap? I can’t MAKE him respond!”

Steve waves the phone around between them. 

“He’s not answering. Maybe it was too soon to text. Maybe I was being too–”

He cuts himself off, lets the sentence hang unfinished in the air as he rapid-fire sends off several texts in a row, nearly desperate for an answer. Even if it’s just to tell him to slow down and stop coming on too strong. He can do that… if that’s what Bucky wants. He can totally take his time. Snail’s pace. Glacial. He just wants a chance to try. 

_Are you still there?_

_Was I too forward?_

_I apologize if I was too forward._

_Oh geez. I’m really sorry, Bucky._

_My friend told me I should be more forward._

_He is obviously wrong._

A soldering gun (thankfully not hot) jabs into his side. Steve hisses, more in surprise than any pain, and swings his gaze to the shorter man beside him. Tony has a look on his face like he’s been sucking on lemons. 

“I am not wrong, Rogers, and have a modicum of patience for God’s sake. Your boy could be busy, he could be in the bathroom, he could be selling your number to TMZ with a racy picture from a body double.”

Steve groans audibly and thunks himself on the forehead twice with this phone. 

_(Softly though.)_

Rhodey clears this throat, and Steve turns toward him. There’s an understanding in Rhodes eyes that reminds Steve that even if Tony and Rhodes share a brain cell sometimes… they are essentially really good people. (And that Rhodes usually acts as the conscience between the two.)

“Relax, Steve. He was on his way to work, right? He probably just can’t talk right now. Don’t work yourself up for no reason. Give it time. Nothing worth having ever comes easy.”

Tony’s face goes contemplative as he taps his fingertips along the edge of his lips. 

“Is that one of mine? That sounds like something I would say. I bet it’s one of mine. You’re stealing, Rhodey. Stop trying to sound more wise than me.”

Rhodes rolls his eyes with extreme exaggeration, which makes Steve smile. There’s a small pang of pain in his chest as he considers the pair of them… and what it must have been like to have this sort of friendship for nearly your entire adult life. The banter, the support, the comfort level between these two men that is bred from decades of being around each other. Being there for each other. Unconditionally. Irrevocably. ( _Jesus… Rhodes is a damned saint.)_

Steve thinks about Imaginary Jimmy again and feels the smile fall off his face. The downtick of his lips almost against his will. He glances back at the phone. No response. _Alright_ , he thinks, _okay_. _Keep your wits about you and apologize… just in case._

_Are you going to answer me?_

_I’m sorry._

He slunks back to his own floor after that, intending to process the day in solitude for a bit… but as most things go in this tower… he’s not allowed the escape. Natasha and Barton are waiting for him in his living room when he arrives, which is a feat in itself as he just left them behind in the common room three floors up, got on an elevator, and came directly here. However, Steve has learned to stop questioning the pair’s abilities. For one thing… he never gets a straight answer, anyway. And for the other… he’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually want to know. 

Steve sighs in their general direction before planting himself on his couch, leaving the television off and twirling the phone around in his hands. The murder twins immediately park themselves on either side of him. Natasha leans her head against the back cushion and stares at him unflinchingly. 

“Start talking, Rogers, I could hear your angst from across the room.”

Steve chuckles softly in response, but doesn’t turn to look at either of them while he responds. 

“Nothin’ to talk about. Run of the mill fear of rejection here. Plain and simple.”

Nat makes a low humming sound, somehow calling him on his bullshit without even using actual words. He finally turns to meet her gaze and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I’m good, Nat. Promise.”

She smiles softly at him. 

“Would love to believe you, Rogers… but you’re acting like this guy has already broken your heart. You’re doomsday prepping before you even give him a chance.”

He groans and allows his head to drop back and rest on the cushions, concentrates his gaze on the flawless ceiling above him. No water stains. No cracks. Clean, pristine, and perfect. Nothing like where he grew up. The future. Flawless, but somehow lifeless. He tosses his phone onto the coffee table without looking and closes his eyes. 

“I really like him, Natasha, but… what in the hell are we going to have in common? At this point I’m pretty sure he doesn’t recognize me, but he will… or I’ll have to tell him… and then things will change. He won’t be as comfortable with me, or maybe he hates the Avengers. Maybe he’ll just realize that I’m too much effort for too little payoff. He’s attracted to me, sure, I’m not completely oblivious. That’s just… that’s not what I want.”

He can hear the smile in Nat’s voice without having to glance at her. 

“You don’t want him to be attracted to you?”

Steve grins as he answers. 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She hums. 

“You don’t want him lusting after your awesome bod? Swooning over your swol?”

Now he groans loudly, plants his hand over her face and pushes with just enough force to topple her backwards without hurting her. (Not that he thinks Natasha Romanov would actually allow him the opportunity to cause damage to her person.) Barton is cackling in response on the other side of Steve… when the buzz of the phone makes them all freeze. Steve nearly breaks it, and the coffee table it’s resting on, when he lunges forward to grab. 

**Calm your ridiculous pectorals, Stevie. I had to do something at work. You didn’t offend me. I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t return the interest, ya schmuck.**

Clint hoots in glee beside him and starts whispering “Stevie” to Nat… even though Steve is actually sitting _between_ them and hears every word. He responds without overthinking on his immediate reactions. Wants everything to feel natural… like it always does when they’re face to face. 

_You sure do call me a bunch of rude names, Buck. :)_

**You sure do earn most of them, Stevie. :)**

_I don’t think that’s fair to say. I’ve never done anything to you. You’ve been verbally assaulting me since the first time we met._

**LIES. I would never.**

**And we’ve only met twice, Steve.**

_Have we? Wow. I guess the third time will be the charm then._

**Oh? Can you be charming? That would be something to see.**

_I’ll have you know I could charm the pants off you if I wanted to_ **.**

_**Steve! How roguish of you! But I’ll let you charm the pants offa me… If you’re really really lucky. ;) ;) ;)** _

His brain stutters to a stop for a moment. He’s picturing… _well… he’s picturing A LOT, okay?_ His imagination is taking him all sorts of places that he would most definitely not admit out loud to anyone he knows. Nobody. Not even Sam. 

Speaking of Sam… Steve’s phone starts to ring and he startles, nearly dropping it. For a split second, he thinks it may be Bucky calling him and his heart jumps to his throat, but then his eyes decide to finally register the picture of the angry red bird that pops up on his screen. _(He didn’t do that… and he can’t figure out how to get it off.)_ He slides to accept the call. 

“Hey, Sam. How was group?”

Sam’s warm laugh drifts across the phone line. 

“Man, you know I’m not calling to tell you about group. I wanted to check in and see if you had any luck today, or if you sat around in your room moping about it, again.”

Steve makes an affronted noise under his breath.

“I have not been moping. I don’t _mope_.”

Natasha snorts… _loudly…_ but when Steve spins to look at her, she has a practiced innocent veneer on her face. As if there was a halo hovering just above her head. Steve narrows his eyes to glare at her, and then turns to glare at Clint, too. Just for good measure. Clint’s eyes widen comically, and he flails in a particularly specific _‘what did I do?’_ type fashion. Steve decides to ignore them both and tune back into Sam’s voice on the line. 

“When things don’t go your way, you _damn sure do_ mope. Like a baby with a busted toy. You just won’t admit that it’s busted. Pretend everything’s just fiiiiiiiiiine… shove your hurt down and act like it don’t matter. But I’m not ready to get into the great therapy debate again… I just want to know if the pretty asshole showed up today?”

Clint bursts into laughter at the last bit, and Sam makes an inquisitive noise. 

“Izzat Barton? You got Nat there, too? What am I saying, of course you do. Natasha, flick Steve on the ear for me, please.”

He really fucking tries… but she’s just too fast for him. Steve squawks at the indignity of it, but Nat only shrugs and smiles. Unrepentant as always. 

“Thank you, Agent Romanov. Now, Steve… update, please?”

When he finishes rubbing at his tender ear, Steve sighs and settles back into the couch. He can’t stop the silly smile that forms on his face. 

“He came by. I know his name! I… I got his phone number and asked him out.”

Sam whistles long and low. 

“Well, whaddya know? That’s great, Steve. I’m proud of you, man. Turn on that All American charm and knock his socks off. You text him yet? Don’t wait on that shit.”

Steve laughs. 

“Yeah, I’m texting him right now, actually.”

“Alright then. Good. Good. I’ll let you get back to… charming your asshole.”

Steve responds with a loud, disapproving _‘TSK’_ and hangs up the call to the sound of Sam laughing like a madman on the other end. He laments for a moment that the only sane person he seems to know in the world is Pepper Potts, but that thought is derailed when he glances down and realizes that Bucky has texted him again. 

**_Did I embarrass you too much? Did you blush so hard that you passed out? Should I send emergency services, Steve? Shall I flag down an Avenger?_ **

“FUCK.”

Steve’s flinging the phone away from himself and launching off the couch to pace before the word even stops passing though his lips. Natasha’s eyes are wide and concerned so Steve waves a hand the direction he tossed the cell. 

“He knows. He has to know. He just made a joke about the Avengers… he… what if he’s known all along? What if he’s playing me? Or trying to get me comfortable so he can… can… I don’t even know… whatever that TZM thing was that Tony mentioned? What if none of this has been real? He could be with Hydra! He could–”

Natasha’s elbow is connecting hard with his stomach before he notices enough to try and block it. Steve doubles over with a long wheeze and thanks God he forwent lunch due to nerves. It takes several moments for his brain to come back from wherever it had blanked out to. Nat is staring at him with eyebrows raised, and Steve responds with a nod and a groan as he stands back up. 

“Yeah. Right. Thanks, Nat.”

She smirks at him and shrugs a shoulder. The pair of them turn back toward the direction he flung the phone… and freeze. Clint has it in his hands and there’s an extremely guilty look on his face. Steve isn’t sure what his own features are doing at the moment, but Clint blanches in response. 

“Um… in my defense… I was reacting impulsively to your panic attack? And Nat says I’m a dumpster fire of a human being who should never be left to his own devices?”

Steve continues to stare without reaction and reaches out for the phone. Barton lets it go without an ounce of resistance. 

_New phone who dis?_

**Wow. Didn’t take you for this particular brand of asshole, Steve. See you around never, I guess.**

_Wh-what? What the hell does that mean? Is Bucky angry? Why?_ Natasha reads the words over his shoulder, and the temperature in the room almost seems to drop when she turns her gaze to Barton. So whatever this is… it’s not good. Steve takes a deep breath and attempts to speak as calmly has possible. 

“Deep six duty. All week.”

Barton reacts instantly, listing to the side and groaning dramatically. 

“Aw, nooooooo… come on! I didn’t mean to! Why do I gotta–”

“Deep six. Now.”

Clint theatrically throws his head back and stomps from the room like a sulky teenager. Natasha sighs and pats Steve on his back as she hops up from the couch and makes to follow Barton out. 

“It’s not that bad really, just call him and tell him it wasn’t you. Be honest.”

Steve rubs at his forehead and lets out a long, slow breath. Natasha turns back to him just before she steps onto the elevator. 

“Call him right now, Steve.”

He takes a very long, very slow breath… closes his eyes for a moment and gathers himself. The freakout reaction from before was definitely outside of his normal behavior, no wonder Nat was eyeing him like he’d gone crazy. He really can’t explain how this one guy can make him react so out of character, but he does… consistently. He would be worried about the team he leads seeing him like this, but he’s not in the military anymore, and being humanized to the Avengers will probably only benefit him in the long run. You don’t trust an emotionless leader.

Steve calls Bucky. The phone rings until it goes to voicemail. 

Steve calls Bucky again. And again. And again. 

There’s a pit beginning to hollow out in his guts, but he refuses to let himself give up. 

Steve calls Bucky again. The line connects… but there’s only silence on the other end. 

“Bucky! Bucky, are you there!? I’m sorry about that text! It wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t! Bucky?”

“I’m here, Steve.”

The voice on the line sounds stiff and perfunctory… but it IS a voice. And it belongs to Bucky Barnes. So Steve apologizes. He tries to explain. Bucky listens… and gradually that emotionless upset begins to fade out of his voice. He sounds more like himself every second, and Steve can finally feel the weight in his stomach start to dissipate. He still doesn’t understand exactly why the text was so wrong… and decides to ask Bucky outright. The other man pauses for a moment before he explains. 

“It’s a brush off, Steve. A fuck-off kind of comment. Like you’re not actually interested.”

 _By saying you have a new phone?_ Apparently Steve still has a lot to learn about modern slang. 

“That’s not it, I promise, Buck. I’m sorry it upset you.”

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t really surprised, to be honest.”

That pulls Steve up short a bit… because… _why_? Unless Bucky really _does_ recognize him? Or maybe just gave him his number to get Steve to quit stalking for him at the coffee shop? But he’s pretty sure they’re on the same page with the attraction. He’s _pretty_ sure. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Stevie. You’re like… an 11 on a BAD day… and me? I’m a mess. I might seem like I have my shit together, and trust me I know I’m a lot better off than some guys, but I still don’t go out in public much. I don’t even have enough confidence in myself to get a real job without screwing it up. And I definitely don’t have enough to go around asking people out. Everybody just… they only see one thing?”

That Bucky has such a harsh opinion of himself hurts, but Steve really can’t talk, can he? His opinion of himself growing up was nearly debilitating. Even after he became Captain America he mostly still pictured himself as the damned dancing monkey for the government. Steve closes his eyes… settles back into the couch and remembers the other man exactly how he’d looked the first time they’d met. 

“Do you want to know what I see, Buck?”

The voice that responds is soft… and small. 

“Y-yeah. Please?”

“I see a man that’s probably been through something horrible, and I would like to hear about it one day… if you’d like to tell me, something that has obviously scarred him more than physically… but he’s fighting so hard to keep himself centered. To not lose any of his personality or his pride or his sense of humor to this thing that happened to him. You have an amazing amount of strength in you, Bucky, and I can see it every time you look in my eyes. And when you mouthed off at me that first time, I loved it.”

Bucky snorts on the other end of the line, and the smile that springs to life on Steve’s face in response is immediate… _and probably ridiculously dopey_. 

“That’s weird, Stevie.”

He laughs softly.

“Maybe to some. It was pretty attractive to me, though. You thought I was harassing those girls and you were prepared to do something about it. And then I turned around... And holy cow… there’s this absolutely beautiful man bristling at me like a cornered cat. And then you didn’t stop… and I didn’t want you to. I was so tempted to ask for your number then, you know? Then I complained to my buddy for hours while I kicked myself for not doing it. There’s not a lot of people that I can just… be myself around?”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It can be. Sometimes I feel really out of place in my own life. But I have some people that I trust, and that means a lot to me. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

He really isn’t sure why he’s opening up so much over the phone, saying all these things to a man he’s only met a couple times, but the words are all flowing out as natural as breathing. His out of character reaction to Bucky’s Avengers text suddenly pops back into this mind and Steve takes a deep breath. He settles himself deeper into the plush couch cushions and absolutely hates his mouth for the words that are about to come out of it… but he has to know. 

“You said that you don’t flirt much any more. So... what makes me different? You’ve been flirting with me, right? And you accepted my request for a date. Is there something that… do you know…”

… his voice just fades out on him, and Steve has a spike of embarrassment at his own damn dramatic nature. _(Peggy was always spot on with that… really.)_ Before he can try to take back his silly words, Bucky’s speaking. 

“Stevie… I dunno, okay? I guess, I mean, you’re hot like burning so there’s that–”

Steve ugly laughs. He can’t help it. 

“–but I promise it’s not _just_ that. You’re a snarky little shit… and an asshole, just like I am. So, I guess that’s just as attractive to me. Which my sister would find hysterical, I promise you. But there’s just something about you that makes me feel… comfortable? It sounds really fucked up, I know. I just feel like I’ve known you longer than a couple days. Like we were meant to know each other. Does that sound crazy?”

_(OH GOD. No it doesn’t. It sounds so NOT crazy that Steve’s brain has a ten second fantasy spiral that involves proposals and weddings and having a husband. OH GOD, HE COULD HAVE A HUSBAND!)_

It takes him a minute to pull his imagination out of his reality. 

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me, Buck. I have to tell you, when you kept mouthing off to me in that coffee shop... And then when you let me return it… it’s the closest I’ve felt to myself in a long time. Longer than you can imagine.”

“Really, Stevie? You’re trying to tell me that you don’t have people throwing themselves at you left and right? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, they do. But they’re throwing themselves at this body… not the person inside it.”

“Well, it’s a helluva body.”

Steve can feel the instant flush on his cheeks… but Bucky saying so just… pleases him. So much. He’s never had any desire to preen this scientifically created body to anyone _(... well, maybe Peggy… just a bit)_ … but if Bucky asked, Steve’s pretty sure he would do it without thinking. 

“BUCK!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Had to say it, Stevie… you leave yourself so wide open for the comments. I currently do not have the strength to resist the urge to respond.”

There’s a giggle dancing in between Bucky’s words as he speaks, and Steve can hear the answering giddiness in his own voice as he responds. 

“Somehow I don’t believe that you’ve ever had the ability to resist.”

“How dare you, Steve. You don’t know me.”

“No… but I’d really like to.”

“You got it, Golden Boy. Not sure how much you’re going to like what you learn, though. A pre-date cautionary advisement.”

“I’ll accept that advisement, but promptly ignore it.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a few moments before Steve breaks it. 

“So… tell me about your sister?”

They speak for hours after that… and Steve feels a strange contentment settle deep in his chest, like this is what was supposed to happen to him. This is where his life was supposed to lead him all along… and it’s a heady feeling. He can’t wait for their date. He can’t wait for their first kiss _(he’s getting ahead of himself, but he’s pretty sure it’s coming)_ … he can’t wait for their first EVERYTHING. 

*****

“I HATE ALIENS!”

Steve smirks slightly at Barton’s exclamation over the comms, but then quickly has to punt another of the gruesome creatures off the bridge he currently finds himself defending. The things have six legs, no visible eyes that he can see, an absolutely massive mouth full of teeth, and they run more like gorillas than men. There’s absolutely no reasoning with them, they don’t seem to speak any language beyond _‘growl, growl, growl, try-to-rip-your-face-off.’_

They’d dropped out of the sky about fourteen hours ago, and it’s been a bloody brawl ever since. He’s not trying to compare directly, but there is definitely a worrying familiarity to the attack on New York that formed the Avengers years ago. 

“CAP! Two more mutant mole-men coming up your six!”

This time Steve actually laughs out loud, it probably sounds half exhausted and half hysterical, but it’s been a tortuously long day… and these bastards actually do resemble moles of some kind. Especially their penchant for burrowing into the foundations of buildings and toppling them over within minutes. It’s been a goddamn nightmare, and the fighters are beginning to tire. Luckily though, it appears they’re actually on their final wave of creatures. 

Steve spins just in time to slam his shield into one creature and then flip sideways to boot the second one directly in the face. There’s a staticky prickle that raises the hairs on the back of his neck and he dives sideways just before lightning cracks down from above and obliterates the two creatures into smoking, bubbling piles of goo. 

“THESE MOLE-MEN ARE QUITE DISGUSTING! ALMOST AS FOUL AS BILGESNIPE!”

He uses the opportunity to take a deep breath, and remains laying flat on his ass for a few seconds. He’s tired… and he’s fucking _pissed_. In the last week he and Bucky have traded hundreds of texts, spoken on the phone a half dozen times… and tried to set up their first date _twice_. The first time Steve had to cancel (Avengers business)… and the second attempt Bucky had a last minute call from some friend he needed to cover for somehow? Steve’s not exactly sure the specifics. The connection was horrible in the underground bunker they had been in at the time. 

They were scheduled to try again today… and then giant fucking MOLE PEOPLE began to fall out of the sky over Manhattan. _Yaaaaaaaaay_. 

Thor’s golden head leans over to peer down at him. 

“Are you quite alright, Captain?”

Steve nods and closes his eyes for a moment. 

“How we doin’?”

“I believe that most of the creatures have presently been destroyed. Do you need a hand up?”

As he shakes his head in the negative, several other voices pipe up across the comms.

“Last couple are in the park, Cap! Hulk is currently… playing... with them.”

“Clean up crews from S.H.I.E.L.D. are already sweeping the city, rescue efforts are a priority now.”

“Rhodes and I can scan do a sweeping scan of the city for life signs in two shakes. We’ll patch in to the rescue crews.”

“Uh, guys… I think Hulk is chewing on one of them. Permission to swat him with a rolled up newspaper?”

Steve huffs out another tired chuckle. 

“Permission granted, Hawkeye.”

“YEEEEET!!!”

“Cap, genderbent Katniss looks about as steady as a weeble wobble. Barton, why are you limping?”

“Uh... no reason?”

Now, Steve groans and pulls himself to his feet. Thor is still nearby, poking one of the bubbling piles of former mole-man with the toe of his boot. 

“Hawkeye, stand down. Get to medical.”

“Aw, Cap, I’m fine! Honest!”

“Medical, Clint. Thor can take care of Bruce.”

Barton makes a whiny squeal like a toddler being denied something, but Thor’s already taken to the skies and is speeding toward their resident rage machine. Steve rolls his shoulders a couple times to loosen the muscles back up, and then walks over to snag his shield and latch it onto his back. JARVIS’ voice cuts into the bickering still flowing across the lines. 

“Captain Rogers? Sergeant Barnes is calling your cell.”

A lance of worry shoots through Steve’s belly and he instantly responds with the affirmative to connect the call. He’s been trying to reach Bucky all day, but the calls kept going to voicemail, and his anxiety has been progressively growing because of it. 

“Bucky! Bucky, can you hear me?”

There’s a staticky hum for a minute in the background, and some obvious interference, but JARVIS quickly improves the quality of the line and it drops away. Which means the strangled breathing on the other end of the call becomes immediately clear and recognizable. 

“St-Steve.”

The voice is weak… and pained… and Steve is already running full tilt toward Brooklyn, even though he’s not _actually_ sure where Bucky is. He makes it half a block before Rhodes swoops down into Steve’s line of sight. 

“This way, Steve! JARVIS pinged his location!”

The War Machine suit extends a hand and foot in Steve’s direction and he launches himself into the air. As if they’d practiced it a thousand times, Rhodes grips him to his side and then they’re rocketing off towards the East Village. Willing the panic back down, Steve tries to remain as calm as possible over the line. 

“Buck! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m… under a building… I got… Steve? I got rebar stickin’ through me like a poker. I don’t think it’s good. I’m pretty sure it’s not too good, Stevie.”

 _(Oh God. OH GOD.)_ Steve curses violently across the line. The comms go completely silent and he doesn’t even realize that he’s starting to bark orders until the first affirmative comes back to him. 

“Are we tracking his location correctly? How accurate are we, JARVIS? Nat, get a Medivac Quinjet on the way NOW! I need you to move faster, Rhodes!”

“I have an exact location, Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes appears to be under the East Village VA center. I’m afraid that it has collapsed.”

“MY VA!? WHY WAS HE THERE!? I left a message for him to get his ass home!”

“Medivac is lifting off, Steve.”

There’s a horrible wheeze on the line… and Bucky’s gone silent. 

“BUCKY? BUCK!?!”

Rhodes rockets around a city block at top speed and Steve can suddenly see the VA center. He can… he can see what’s LEFT of the VA center… and it isn’t much. Sam makes a sound of distress across the comms; he’s coming up on their left at top speed. Bucky groans and finally answers Steve’s outcry. 

“I’m here, dammit. Stop screamin’ a’me.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, and then without waiting for him to slow down, pushes off of the War Machine suit and plummets towards a clear patch on the desolate street. Rhodes squawks at his sudden departure, but Steve’s too busy bending his knees and minimizing the impact of hitting the ground. He gives a brief grunt of pain, but then immediately starts moving to the frighteningly large pile of rubble that occupies the space that was once Sam’s VA. Sam touches down beside him, Redbird already in the air above projecting an image of the structure and a suspected location where Bucky seems to be. Sam adjusts the image and the safest possible route suddenly springs up in bright blue lights. 

“There! Steve!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice and scrambles toward the first little blue marker. He grabs a massive slab of broken concrete and chucks it to the side as far as he can. Sam is shifting smaller pieces and cursing continuously at each one. 

“Keep talkin’ to me, Buck. Can you do that?”

The only response he gets is labored breathing. 

“Buck! Talk to me!”

Bucky makes a soft sound over the line, but finally speaks up. 

“‘Kay… I can do that. Whatcha wanna know?”

Steve shifts another block of crumbled building and rolls it as carefully off to the side as he can. When he glances behind him he can see Natasha running up to help Sam, and Tony is in the air above them with Rhodes, scanning the rubble. When Steve turns his attention back to the collapsed building, he remembers that Bucky asked him a question. He racks his brain with what to answer, and decides that hearing some attitude from the other man would go pretty far in convincing Steve’s nerves that everything was going to be okay. 

“Why don’t you tell me again why you were such an asshole the first time we met, huh?”

In response, Bucky snorts weakly and it sends him into a coughing fit. There’s a lump in Steve’s throat and a burning in his eyes, but he’s going to hold it to- _fucking_ -gether… because Bucky needs him to right now. 

“Was runnin’ late. Tol’ you. Takin’ up the line. Flirtin’ with the girls.”

The comment seems to knock Sam out of whatever rage of destruction he’s working himself into, because he bursts into laughter. _(Probably because he’s seen Steve try to flirt with girls. He knows the horror.)_ Bucky makes an inquisitive sound. 

“Izzat Sam? Stevie? Why’s Sam on yer phone?”

_What?_

_WHAT?_

Steve whips his head towards Sam and finds his friend staring back at him, with a slightly guilty look on his face. 

“WHAT?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders and grins unrepentantly. 

“Gave you plenty of hints. Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”

“What?”

Steve’s vocabulary has apparently been whittled down to a single word in shock. Sam knows Bucky. This entire time… Sam has known Bucky. Steve can feel the betrayed look that’s taken over his face, but his double-crossing buddy only rolls his eyes at him in response to it. Said traitorous friend in question waves a dismissive hand in Steve’s direction, before he talks directly to Bucky across the line. 

“Yeah, it’s me, Sargeant Hot Lips… got yourself in a pickle, didn’t you?”

“Don’t call me that… don’t have hot lips. Stupid.”

“Oh Barnes… we’re going to have to work on your self awareness. Or buy you a mirror.”

Steve goes back to digging, but his mind is still a tilt-a-whirl of memories… trying to piece together all the comments made by Sam and Bucky in the last weeks… and yeah. _Yeah, maybe that makes sense._ Then a recent memory pops up… and he realizes that amongst the radio chatter on the way here, Sam had actually commented about calling Bucky and the VA. Steve had just been too focused to process his words at the time. Caught up in the need to be at Bucky’s side quickly. 

“Nah. Stupid. Don’ need it. Hey. Hey, Sam? I’m not… Sam… the pain stopped, Sam. Steve? Thas’ not good. S’not good when the pain stops.”

The words are slurred and barely comprehensible… and Steve panics. He and Sam curse nearly insync, and simultaneously begin to speed up the digging. Steve tosses half a dozen vehicle-sized slabs of concrete back to back in about 15 seconds. Natasha’s raised voice comes over the line, followed immediately by Tony’s. 

“We need MediVac NOW!” 

“MediVac five minutes out. Cap… building isn’t sound… you need to slow your roll.”

Steve hears him, but he doesn’t listen… and immediately regrets it when the next slab he tosses is directly followed by an ominous rumble and the ground beneath their feet shifting violently. Steve and Sam both tumble ass over teakettle into the pile of debris… and then the screaming starts. Bucky screams… and it’s loud, and frantic, and the most horrible gut-wrenching thing that Steve has ever heard. Because it’s pure, unadulterated pain. And his stomach drops. 

“BUCKY!!!”

“BARNES!!!”

“SLOW IT THE HELL DOWN, ROGERS! I TOLD YOU THE BUILDING ISN’T SOUND!”

“MediVac two minutes out!”

“Tony, can you find a way to stabilize that support beam until we get him out?”

“Maybe. Rhodey?”

“On your six.” 

He tunes out the team chatter on the comms and focuses his hearing on Bucky’s end of the line. The scream and its haunting echo finally taper off, and if it wasn’t for the harsh panting that could still be heard over the phone line, Steve would have lost his mind. He feels stupid and guilty for moving too quickly and causing Bucky more pain than he was already in. He needs to rein himself in and listen to his support network. ( _He needs to calm the fuck down.)_ Bucky’s voice finally pipes up again… and it sounds horrible. 

“That last time I was dying… my brain had the decency of lettin’ me do it unconscious.”

Comms go absolutely silent. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep, fortifying breath. 

“You’re not dying, Bucky. I’m not gonna let you.”

Bucky responds with a soft hum, as if he’s merely humoring Steve’s ridiculousness. 

“S’not up to you, Steve. Not how it works. You can’t out-stubborn death.”

For the first time since they made it to the VA, Barton’s voice comes across on the line. He sounds like he’s on a Quinjet. Hopefully, it’s the damn Medivac, and hopefully it’s almost here. 

“Oh, buddy. You have _no idea_ who you’re talking to.”

The line explodes with snorts and laughs from his collective teammates. There’s actually a guffaw… an honest to god _guffaw…_ that can only have come from Thor. When Bucky speaks up again, there’s an audible smile in his voice. 

“Sure I do. It’s the Gymrat Asshole.”

Steve huffs a slightly embarrassed laugh, and before him a grid of laser lights manifests across the field of debris. There are giant green checks or big red Xs scattered on the largest pieces of rubble. He glances up at Tony, who is hovering above and projecting the lights, and waves a thanks. Steve braces himself back on his feet and reaches for the nearest green-checked slab. Sam and Natasha are back to picking up the smaller pieces and Rhodey is guiding the massive bits that Steve’s tossing into controlled rolls down the pile. 

Sam’s voice is soft, and worried, when he speaks back up. 

“Barnes… we’re still waiting to hear the rest of that story.”

Bucky sighs, but his voice actually sounds a little clearer when he speaks again. 

“Yeah… all the baristas, they were all fawning. Not working. Big fucker standing in line in front of me. Figured he was flexing his pecs at them or somethin’–”

If he wasn’t so worried, Steve’s pretty sure he’d be flushing with embarrassed pleasure. 

“Come on, Buck–”

“Don’t interrupt the story, Cap.”

_Dammit, Sam._

“–although thinking back… ‘m not sure if that shirt had the structural integrity to handle dancing pecs. Could practically hear the seams screaming for a mercy killing.”

“Oh my God. I love your boyfriend, Rogers.”

_Dammit, Tony._

“So I told him to order or get outta the way. An’ he looks all guilty n’ sad like a… like a big ol’ dewy eyed Golden Retriever, yanno? Like a… like a… Sam? Is Steve a Golden Retriever or a Yellow Lab?”

_Okay, now this might actually qualify as torture._

“Come on–”

“Stop interrupting, Rogers. Definitely a Golden Retriever, Mr. Barnes.”

_Et tu, Natasha?_

“Don’t know you. You gotta nice voice though. Wasser’ name?”

“Natasha.” 

“K… k’ Natasha agrees with me. Thas’ good. Important. Golden Retriever it is. Anyway… he… he looks like he’s maybe gonna call me out for bein’ rude for a second… then he does what everyone always does…”

Steve simultaneously hates and loves his friends. They’re absolutely horrible… but they’re keeping Bucky talking and conscious… so he forgives them. A _little_. He tosses another huge slab of concrete, hears Rhodes grunt with the effort to direct it down safely… and _huh…_ there’s a small gap in the rubble that looks like it could just about fit him through. He concentrates his efforts on that area, paranoid about touching any of the red ‘X’d pieces. 

It takes a minute to notice that Bucky’s gone quiet. Sam and Natasha actually beat him to calling out to Bucky by a few seconds. Steve pushes aside his embarrassment and asks Bucky to continue the story. After a few more seconds, he does… but he sounds so tired. ( _Fuck. He just sounds so tired.)_ The lump is back in Steve’s throat and he returns his concentration on the rubble pile. 

“... he… uh… he looked at the empty sleeve, yanno? Everyone always does… and then they get that look. That look. Sam, you know the look? The pity, but gotta pretend they don’t acknowledge it look. Like… the fuck ever. I’m missing a fucking limb, you assholes… you can acknowledge that shit. Jesus. An’ I was like, sure this gymrat asshole is hot as fuck, but I hate that goddamn look, yanno?”

There’s silence on the comms again, but this time no one speaks up. Until Bucky sucks in a sharp breath and begins to mutter frantically across the line. 

“Oh no. Oh no no no no…”

Steve’s heart thumps hard inside his chest. 

“Buck!? What’s wrong?”

“Oh fuck no. Steve. Fuck. Steve… are you fucking Captain America?”

 _(OH. Yeah. Huh.)_ He’d actually forgotten that Bucky didn’t know. Sam cackles next to him, and Bucky’s voice rises in outrage. 

“SAM!! Fuck you! Are you a fucking AVENGER?”

Now Sam’s outright laughing… and Steve’s reminded that yeah, he’s still pissed about that, too. That Wilson knew this entire time and never fucking said anything to Steve. _(Sam proceeds to incriminate himself further.)_

“And he finally gets it! I was wondering how long it would take you, my man! You cannot even believe the amount of entertainment and secondhand embarrassment you have provided me over the last several days. I cannot wait to entertain everyone with this story in the future, in excruciating fucking detail. Maybe at the wedding reception, huh? Wouldn’t that be a blast?”

Steve is officially canceling Sam Wilson. He is dead to him. Bucky actually responds with a soft laugh across the line, and this time… Steve can hear it echoed from the dark hole before him. 

“Yeah. Sure, Wilson. That’s me… the future Mrs. America.”

 _(Wow. OKAY… embarrassingly close to some internal conversations and daydreams that Steve’s been having recently.)_ He’s dangerously close to blushing again, so he attempts in vain to ignore the banter between the two Vets and focuses on making the pathway down to Bucky more accommodating to Steve’s size. He’s terrified of trying to squeeze through and compromising the precarious balance of the debris pile. 

“Barnes, buddy… again, we’re gonna get you a mirror, and maybe a class on situational awareness? I’m going to bet that JARVIS has dozens of conversations from the last couple weeks about the dreamy Vet from the coffee shop in his archives.”

“Affirmative, Falcon. Twenty-three conversations, totalling forty-seven minutes with detailed descriptions of Sergeant Barnes’ hair. His cheekbones. His eyes. His postier. His–”

_OH MY GOD._

“OH MY GOD, can you please stop!?”

Steve’s sure his voice sounds horrified, and he might be… a bit… but _come on_. There’s no way he spoke that much about Bucky with the team. Because that’s… that’s a lot of conversation… and _okay, yeah, he’s feeling the embarrassment now. Dammit._ Bucky pulls Steve out of his own head with some gasped out words. 

“No… hey… no… that’s not right. You guys shouldn’t be here.”

As if there were anywhere else in this city where Steve would rather be at this moment. No way. 

“Bucky, we’re really close, okay? Just a few more minutes.”

“No. Steve. Steve. There’s a whole city thas’ scared and… and probably in worse situations than me, okay? You can’t… The Avengers can’t be here for me… you gotta… you gotta go save people.”

Bless Natasha, she pipes up right away in response. 

“We are saving someone, Barnes.”

“No. Important people. Kids and… and innocent bystanders… and people… who matter.”

“You matter to the Cap, Buckaroo… so you are important people. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of help to go around right now.”

Okay… friends are forgiven. Steve still kinda wants to shake Bucky for trying to convince them to leave, but he knows that he’s in pain, likely in shock, and probably pretty far from thinking clearly at this point. With one final tug of a medium-sized chunk of destroyed concrete, a perfect Steve-sized hole opens up into the cavernous darkness where Bucky is pinned somewhere. Steve takes a deep calming breath and slowly lowers himself down feet first. 

It’s dusty and cramped, and there’s a cloyingly metal scent of blood, which instantly ratchets up Steve’s nerves. He can make out some slight red glow from still functioning emergency lights… and thank god he doesn’t smell any gas leakage in the immediate vicinity. Redwing swoops down into the hole next to him and fills the scene with a circle of light. A maze of debris is illuminated in front of him, and another level down in the destruction there’s a familiar figure lying still with the glow of a cell phone highlighting the right side of a dirty face. 

Steve scoots forward slowly and carefully, until he can hop down to the lower level. Dust suddenly rains down from above and there’s the distinctive whir of Tony and Rhodes’ suits. Comms has tapered off, but he figures they’re likely attempting to brace the remains of the building somehow. Possibly scanning for further survivors. Bucky starts coughing, and fuck it sounds painful. 

“Bucky?”

The injured man sighs and it’s thick with relief. 

“Yeah. Here, Stevie.”

He treads lightly over until he can slowly lower himself to his knees beside Bucky. In the pool of light from Redbird, the man looks frighteningly pale and covered in dirt and dust. Those gorgeous stormy blues meet Steve’s eyes directly, and they’re a little glassy, but they’re obviously tracking Steve’s movements and holding his gaze. He reaches a gloved hand down and carefully runs it along the side of Bucky’s face. There’s blood from his hairline streaking down to his jaw in a spider web of trails. 

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

Bucky responds to his words with a wobbly smile. 

“Not very gorgeous right now, I don’t think.”

Steve breaks eye contact to sweep his gaze across the other man quickly. He’s assessing the swelling and bruising of Bucky’s fingers when his eyes catch on the rebar protruding from low in his belly… and Steve freezes. The metal is coated with blood and broken off at the top like a spear. _Fuck. FUCK._ Bucky didn’t deserve this. It has to be utter torture. He swallows down the bile that tries to fight its way up his throat, and gives Bucky his most confident voice. 

“Nah. You’re always gorgeous, Buck. Told you before.”

Sam whistles from above. 

“Workin’ that charm, Cap.”

Steve can hear Natasha cautiously making her way towards them in the rubble. She settles on her knees at Bucky’s other side and he finally stops staring at Steve to turn and watch her. Natasha smiles down at him, and Steve can see her calculating chances and injuries and odds of survival… and Steve really selfishly hopes that she keeps that particular information to herself. 

“Hey there, soldier. How are you feeling?”

Bucky’s face kind of spasms in response. 

“Like a stuck pig, ma’am.”

“Call me ma’am again, Barnes, and I’ll shove that rebar somewhere more intimate.”

Bucky tries to laugh, and it does something horrible to Steve’s heart in response. He hates this. Hates that he can’t immediately take away the pain and make everything okay. 

“Promises promises.”

Natasha smiles just barely in response to Bucky’s words, but Steve can tell she’s worried… and he doesn’t like that at all. Bucky’s eyes are looking a little glazed over with pain or probably shock, and he starts to mumble under his breath, and although Steve can understand what he’s saying he doesn’t really follow the meaning. If there is any actual meaning beyond an injured man trying to keep himself calm. 

“Six degrees of Sam Wilson. Or Steve Rogers. Falcon comes first. Egg before the chicken. Steve the chicken.”

He giggles a bit in response to his own words, then his eyes close and his head lists startlingly to the side. It’s only the fact that Steve can still hear his ragged breathing that doesn’t spin him into a panic. He carefully places a hand on the other man’s good shoulder. 

“Buck… don’t go to sleep, okay. Please. Please open your eyes.”

Bucky makes a soft sound in response. 

“Gonna try, Stevie.”

Natasha’s hands move to rest lightly on Bucky’s stomach for a quick second, before she starts carefully feeling around his sides and then his back. For his part, Steve keeps one hand on Buck’s shoulder and uses the other to cautiously prod the poor swollen and bruised fingers of Bucky’s only hand. It looks to have been possibly pinned under something? There’s a slab of concrete laying innocently right beside him, but it may have shifted at some point and freed the arm? 

Bile threatens to rise at the back of Steve’s throat again. He can’t even imagine… if Bucky had come to… and found his arm pinned. How fucking terrifying would that have been to him? It’s almost too painful to consider. Nat makes a thoughtful noise and Steve returns his attention to her. 

“How do we do this?”

“Rebar is still embedded in the concrete below him. Widow to Medivac... do we remove the impalement, or leave intact? Roger that. Steve, we can’t take it out, can you break it off underneath him?”

Steve moves both his hands to sweeping behind Bucky’s back and pushing softly in between his body and the debris below him. It seems pretty solid, and there’s not an awful lot of room for his hands to maneuver enough to snap rebar. He could do it if he had enough leverage. 

“Not sure, can you try to shift him up a little so I can get to it?”

She doesn’t look too sure about it, but still attempts to very slowly edge Bucky up just a fraction. The response is almost immediate. Bucky makes the most hauntingly god-awful hurt noise, sucks in a sharp breath, and goes positively lifeless in their hands. His eyes roll back into his head, and it only takes a second for Steve to realize… he’s not breathing out again. 

“SHIT!”

“FUCK!”

He and Natasha curse simultaneously and move into immediate action. They remove their hands from beneath him, Steve’s go straight to cradling his face and calling his name, but Natasha does some kind of wicked little THUMP around the area of his diaphragm and almost instantly Bucky starts coughing and hacking… but he’s breathing. Which is the most important thing. Steve realizes that he’s frantically petting at Bucky’s hair and the side of his face, but decides that he doesn’t really care. Natasha’s not going to judge him for his panic. 

“Bucky! Stay awake, Buck! Stay awake!”

The stormy blues that he’s quickly becoming addicted to roll a bit in confusion, before they find Steve and latch on to him. He nods in understanding of Steve’s request, but doesn’t try to speak. His breath sounds wheezy and painful, so Steve’s not even sure he has the ability to try at this moment. He cradles the beautiful blood-stained face with his hands and holds Bucky’s gaze steadily. He doesn’t even break it when he speaks to Natasha. 

“Not gonna work. We need something that can cut it. Tony? I need something that can cut through rebar without damaging skin that’s very close to it.”

“Roger, Rogers. Is there room for one more in your little menage a trois down there?”

Natasha stands and begins to move back toward the opening they came through. As she passes by him she grips Steve’s shoulder and squeezes it. Her silent way of supporting and encouraging him. Steve swallows and nods his head minutely. Then she’s gone. 

“No. I’ll come back up. You’ll probably need to help lift him out anyway.”

It’s still and silent for a couple moments, Bucky meeting his gaze unflinchingly, and he’s just so lovely… that Steve can’t help himself. As slowly and carefully as he can, he leans forward just enough to press his lips delicately against Bucky’s own. There’s barely any pressure, just the softest graze of a touch. Bucky’s smiling when Steve pulls back. It’s pained at the edges, but still soft and lovely. 

“What was that for?”

Steve carefully traces his fingers down the tracks of tears that have cleared rivulets of dust away from Bucky’s cheeks. He wonders how quickly is too quickly to fall in love with a person. Surely there’s no minimum requirement if you are in control of all your facilities and have an iron grip on your own mind? Love at first sight can’t ONLY be a silly trope for fictional tales of romance, can it? Still, he’ll keep it to himself for now. It’s a strong emotion to spring on someone so quickly… and he wouldn’t want there to be any doubt of his sincerity. 

He just knows what he feels. 

“Something for you to think about… so you’ll stay awake. Okay? Promise me.”

Bucky merely nods in response, but he’s still staring at Steve with a downright delighted look on his face, which is so much better than the deliriously pain-filled one from earlier… and Steve will gladly keep kissing him for it to stay. There’s a displacement of air from above and a blue glow from Tony’s suit washes over the cavern. He’s maneuvering the suit slowly and deliberately so as not to kick up any dust or shift the debris, and Steve is eternally grateful. 

Tony settles in the spot where Natasha had previously been and flips up his face plate. He’s obviously already done a sweep of the entire situation with the suit and JARVIS, because as soon as his eyes are visible, they’re locked on Steve with concern, even while he speaks to Bucky. 

“Hey there, Buckaroo! You currently resemble a shish-kabob, let's see what we can do about that, shall we?”

Bucky’s eyes flick over to Stark for the briefest of seconds, but then immediately return to sharing Steve’s gaze. He gives a soft grunt of confirmation, but doesn’t speak. Tony snorts as if he’s affronted, but Steve can tell genuine Stark arrogance versus the mask he uses to cover up other emotions. Tony’s worried, too. Likely more about Steve than Bucky, and hey… Steve’s real appreciative of that… but he would really prefer if Bucky would get top billing at the moment. 

“I’m insulted. Never has my arrival been so thoroughly disregarded. Tell your boyfriend he’s rude, Rogers.”

Steve smiles and watches as smaller echo of it blooms across Bucky’s lips. 

“He’s not my boyfriend yet, Tony… we haven’t even been on a date.”

Bucky actually winks at him… and Steve is so charmed. Again. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being charmed by Bucky Barnes. _(He certainly hopes not.)_

“Nonsense. What do you consider this? Dark, intimate room… leaning closely together so you can whisper sweet nothings… the soothing dulcet tones of my glorious voice… and… candlelight!”

A tiny, tiny pulse of arc-reactor light springs from one of the suits fingers. Tony flails his arms in what Barton always refers to as ‘Jazz Hands’ before he carefully reaches beneath Bucky with the bulky arm of the suit. Steve has a brief second panic about the light burning his skin, but Bucky doesn’t react at all, and it only takes a moment until there’s a snap of metal and Tony’s pulling back. Bucky gasps softly, and Steve and Tony are already in motion. 

“Iron Man to Medivac… rebar is free, we’ll be there in two shakes, prepare for incoming. BP is dangerously low and body temperature is dropping dramatically.”

Steve sweeps Bucky up into his arms as carefully and delicately as he can manage, and the injured man clings to him weakly with his arm. The Iron Man suit steps up behind him, and this method of evac, they’ve actually practiced before, thank god. Tony wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, while he steps back and stands on top of the boots of the suit. It’s a precarious situation, but Steve trusts Tony to keep him secure, and nothing in the world would loosen the hold he has on the man in his arms. 

The ascent back up to the surface is glacier slow and cautious, they only barely fit through the hole they came down through, but then there’s sun and fresh air… and Steve takes a deep breath of it. When he looks back down at Bucky, he appears unconscious… or worse. 

“Buck? Buck!”

Tony’s voice comes across the comms, and he’s obviously trying to keep Steve calm.

“He’s good, Rogers. Heartbeat and breathing are labored, but they’re still steady. He’s probably just too weak to respond.”

Steve takes a steadying breath and then nods his head in response. He shifts his gaze to glance skyward, and the Medivac Quinjet is hovering not far away with the back landing ramp down and waiting. Tony accelerates them just a little, and in only a few seconds they’re inside. As soon as they touch down, Steve steps away from the suit. Tony pats him once on the shoulder… and then he’s launching himself back outside, and the jet is closing up and on route to the Tower. 

Instantly the Med team are waving Steve over to a gurney they’ve got prepped. He carefully lays Bucky down on his side, trying very hard not to knock or shift the rebar in anyway. One of the Med Techs help to keep him still, and another is working at a giant orange block of foam that it looks like they’re planning to prop him up with. Steve slowly pulls his hands away, and Bucky gives an immediate sound of distress, so he drops to his knees by the gurney and starts to trail his fingers along Bucky’s face and through his tangled hair. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re taking you to some really great doctors. They’re going to fix you right up.”

He concentrates on the face before him while a flurry of activity swirls around the gurney. The Techs cut away Bucky’s shirt and bag. They wrap and secure the rebar, set and support his hand and fingers, get him propped and secured against the block of foam so that he’s resting at an angle. Then they’re wheeling a machine up next to Steve with some bags of saline, and hopefully pain medicine. 

“Captain Rogers, I’m sorry, but can you please move away from the table?” 

Steve hops to his feet and moves to step back. 

“Oh, sure, sorry.”

The moment his hand loses contact with the man on the gurney… Bucky reacts. Violently. He begins to shake and pull at all his restraints. His head is frantically moving back and forth and he’s crying out. A horrible, terrified, gut-wrenching sound with streams of tears tracking down his face in rivers. There are mumbled words melting into his cries, and they eventually form into a repetition of _‘What’s happening? Where is everyone?’_ again and again. It rips Steve’s heart completely apart. 

He shifts to the end of the gurney so that he’s still out of the way of the Techs and bends forward to cradle Bucky’s head in his hands, albeit upside down. He leans far enough over that his mouth is close to Bucky’s ear and begins to whisper as soothingly as he can manage. 

“Bucky! I’m here! Shh...shh… I’m here, Buck.”

His thumbs sweep back and forth along the apples of Bucky’s cheeks delicately, and the other man gradually begins to calm. 

“I’m here, Buck. You’re not alone.”

Bucky finally relaxes and stills, and the Techs all give Steve grateful, relieved smiles as they get back to work hooking him up on IVs and monitors. Steve watches them for a bit, all the while still making soft, whispered sounds for the man beneath him. Bucky has titled his head up just enough that it seems like he’s listening, which is good. He feels someone step up to his side, and turns to find Natasha standing beside him, offering a damp cloth. 

“Here. I thought you might want this to clean his face.”

Steve takes it gratefully, and glances around the Quinjet. He hadn’t even realized there were other Avengers onboard, but besides Nat, Barton and Sam are bickering quietly on a nearby bench seat. His gaze sweeps back to Natasha and she gives him a smile and a wink before turning away. Steve smiles to himself, and then adjusts his stance so that he can begin to gently wipe away the blood and dust coating Bucky’s face. It’s cathartic, and he isn’t sure how much time he loses in the motion of it… but when he comes back to himself a little, he finds that he’s spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning, and then just tracing along Bucky’s full lips with his fingers. That damned burning in his eyes is back, and he has to speak around the lump in his throat. 

“Keep fighting, okay, Buck? I know you can do it. You don’t take shit from anyone. Not even me.”

An exhausted laugh bubbles its way out of him, unbidden, and Steve takes a moment to toss the dirty cloth onto a nearby seat. Then he uses his free hand to unfasten his helmet, without removing his other from where it’s still caressing along Bucky’s cheekbone. The helmet gets tossed to the same bench as the cloth, and with a deep calming breath, Steve leans forward until his forehead is resting gently against Bucky’s own and his face is burrowed into the tangled, dusty hair. He closes his eyes and thinks about Imaginary Jimmy. 

“Do you know, when I was growing up… I used to imagine what it would be like to have a best friend? Someone that always had my back. We would have been friends for our entire lives, grow up together, grow old together. And I was a little horror, you know? I was always getting into fights with people bigger than I was… well… bigger than I was at the time. I got the crap kicked outta me a lot, Buck. So I would think about this imaginary friend… and he would always show up to pick me up and call me a punk. But he’d make sure I was okay. That I was never outnumbered without him.”

There’s a painful tightness in his chest, remembering his childhood. Thinking of his mother working herself to the bone. Working herself into an early grave. While worthless little Steve needed more and more care. Because he couldn’t stop getting sick. Because he couldn’t stop being lonely. Because he couldn’t stop going out to play, desperate to make a friend. 

“So… you gotta understand, Bucky… when you popped off at me in that coffee shop… it was like… it was like that person who had always only lived in my imagination… just … stepped right out of my head and right up behind me in line. I couldn’t help but follow you to the bus stop that day. And then, you called me an asshole…”

He laughs again, softly into Bucky’s hair, and he wants to call himself three kinds a fool. For admitting all these things out loud. For feeling them in the first place. For being pathetically emotional, he supposes. _(Although he can hear Sam’s disappointed voice yelling at him for thinking so.)_

“... since I woke up in the future, everyone has been so polite and deferential… and honestly, the exact opposite of what I needed. Then there you are calling me an asshole and giving me shit… and I kicked myself so many times that first day for not asking for your name… or your number, or whatever the hell people do nowadays. I went back to the coffee shop as a long shot, they didn’t remember you ever coming in before. I’m so glad you came back in, Buck… I’m so damn glad.” 

He falls silent. Just breathes for a few moments, trying to rein in his emotions. He damn sure isn’t expecting the soft voice that pipes up near the top of his head. 

“Do you… have helmet hair?”

Steve pops his head up immediately, feels his eyes go wide in surprise as they meet Bucky’s gaze and hold it steadily. 

“Bucky!”

Bucky laughs. It’s a harsh, quiet little thing… but it’s also the most amazing sound Steve’s heard since they pulled him from the building. Bucky’s eyes flick to Steve’s hair quickly before returning to meet his. 

“Oh fuck… you do. That’s… that’s amazing, Stevie. You look fuckin’ ridiculous.”

The snark and the sass… and the exhausted, but calm, way the words sound infinitely improve Steve’s mood. And the constant fear that had been gnawing at his gut alleviates a little. He rolls his eyes, because he knows that’s the reaction Bucky is hoping for.

“Buck–”

And then the other man completely throws Steve for a fucking LOOP. 

“You always kiss your imaginary best friends, Steve?”

He can feel his face flush pink, and his mouth drop open, and yeah… yeah he had actually said all those things out loud, hadn’t he? Granted, he might have thought that Bucky was unconscious _(and therefore not listening)_ at the time, but he HAD said them. Steve waits for the embarrassment or regret to sink in… but it just… doesn’t. And with Bucky still grinning up at him, he finds that he really doesn’t give a shit. 

“You want me to call you a punk, Steve? I have the ability… and the desire.”

The smile that breaks over Steve’s face must be absolutely ridiculous and completely besotted, but when Buck answers back with a silly grin and an eyebrow wiggle, he just bursts into laughter and leans down to sweep a kiss on the other man’s forehead. 

“Good to see those pretty blues again.”

“Damn, Cap… still on point with the charm today.”

Steve hadn’t even heard or felt Sam stepping up next to him, so he startles a little, but doesn’t move from his current position. Sam’s leaning over the gurney to grin down at Bucky, who has a small glare sparking to life on his features. It only makes Sam’s delight double down. Steve shakes his head slightly at the pair of them. He’s insanely curious on the type of relationship the two have, now that he knows that they’ve been working together for nearly a year. 

“Hey there, Barnes. Just couldn’t stay out of trouble, couldya’?”

Bucky’s glare intensifies… and he actually sticks his tongue out at Sam. _(Steve continues to be ridiculously charmed.)_ Sam leans forward to pat Bucky softly on the shoulder. 

“It’s good to see ya, bud… but we’re about to hit the compound and the Medical staff needs to put you under for surgery, okay?”

Steve startles at that a little. He hadn’t even realized they weren’t heading to the Tower, but the Compound is good. It has a larger medical staff and it’s far enough out of the city in case there’s another wave of attack. Bucky starts to look worried at the prospect of surgery, and Steve and Sam simultaneously move to reassure him. Steve with another caress along the side of his face, and Sam with another squeeze on his shoulder and a calm voice. 

“Don’t worry, man. The Docs here are the best. We’re not gonna leave you on your own. Plus, Clint’s going to stay with you, since he got hurt again, as usual–”

Barton hollers an affronted “Hey!” at Sam’s words, but no one responds to him. Sam just continues to speak to Bucky, and Steve can feel the descent of the jet now that he’s paying attention to it. 

“We gotta go out and help some more people, okay? Steve needs to come with us… but I promise I’ll have him in your room before you even wake up. Okay?”

Bucky glances between them and Steve absolutely hates the nervous worry on his gorgeous face. Finally, he nods in response, and Sam being Sam… he reaches down to bop him gently on the tip of his nose. 

“Welcome to the Avengers… can’t get rid of us now.”

The worry on Bucky’s face melts into a wide grin, and Steve is so grateful to Sam that he can’t stop smiling at him. 

“Don’t want to.”

Sam laughs at Bucky’s response and turns to head back toward Clint and Natasha. 

“Oh… you say that now… just wait until you get to know Stark.”

Once Sam has moved away, Steve looks back to find Bucky staring up at him, warm smile gracing his lips. He responds by dropping another kiss on his brow. The Tech catches his eye and holds up a syringe to signal Steve they’re putting Bucky under. He gives a slight nod, and goes right back to holding Bucky’s gaze. 

“Go to sleep. Get better. I’ll be there when you wake up in recovery. Promise.”

Bucky continues to watch Steve, and Steve can tell the moment the drugs begin to pull him under. The tension he was holding in his shoulders just melts away from him… and his eyes begin to lose focus. He keeps watching Steve though, and manages one final smirk and a couple more slurred words before he slips into unconsciousness. 

“Don’t do anything stupid…. Punk.”

After that, he’s completely under. Steve huffs a small laugh as he places one more kiss on the side of Bucky’s mouth, then he steps away and allows the Techs to start whatever prep work they need. He stumbles backward and crashes hard into the seat next to his helmet and the dirty cloth. He closes his eyes and covers his face with this hands. 

He doesn’t even realize how hard and fast he’s breathing, until Sam’s suddenly standing before him, pushing Steve’s head down between his knees and rubbing at his back. 

“It’s okay, man. He’s gonna be okay.”

Steve acknowledges the words with a jerky nod, but remains bent over, trying to regulate his breathing and calm his racing heart. He knows. He knows that. The medical staff at the compound is the best that Tony Stark’s money can buy. It has to be. The injuries sustained by Avengers are often unlike any other kind. Bucky’s going to the absolute best place for him. Steve’s just dropping from the fear-fueled adrenaline spike of the last hour, coupled with the utter exhaustion from the fight, in general. 

Sam sits next to him and continues to rub his palm up and down Steve’s spine. He’s able to focus on it… and get himself under control. Steve props his elbows on his knees to support his hands covering his face, and lets out one long, deep breath. Sam’s hand stills its motion, he doesn’t pull it away. 

“You really like this dude, don’t you?”

Steve nods in his hands, and Sam makes a thoughtful hum under his breath. 

“I wasn’t sure, you know? About Barnes. I was gonna let it play out and see what happened, but I still don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself, mostly, although he’s always willing to help out and do whatever you ask him to. He only shares trivial stuff in group, won’t talk about his service… but I get the feeling that it was pretty bad, Steve. Really bad.”

Steve pushes himself back up to a proper seated position and drops his hands into his lap. He can barely see Bucky on the gurney now with all the Techs surrounding him, and he can feel the Quinjet slowly dropping down into the Compound hanger. He turns to Sam, and his friend’s eyes are full of concern. Steve smiles. 

“I know, Sam. He’s skirted the issue with me, too. I told him that I’d like to hear his story, but if he never wants to tell me… that’s fine, too.”

Sam nods and clears his throat. 

“Well, I gotta admit… you two really do make sense to me. Coupla’ assholes from Brooklyn with PTSD, and more balls than you have sense.”

Steve chuckles and shoves at Sam’s shoulder, nearly toppling him over. Wilson only starts laughing and continues speaking.

“Nah, man, nah… it’s perfect. All you got left to figure out is if you’re gonna be Steve Barnes… or if he’s gonna be James Rogers.”

His heart actually skips a beat… he’s pretty sure. Either that or it’s actually trying to claw directly up his throat. He had gone absolutely frozen at Sam’s words… but now Steve turns slowly toward his friend. His eyes must be wide as saucers. 

“B-Bucky’s first name is James?”

Sam nods and gives him a funny look. 

“Yeah? You didn’t actually think his momma named him Bucky Barnes, did you? It has something to do with his middle name, I think. Why?”

 _James. Oh god. JAMES!! Imaginary Jimmy!_ Steve can’t help it… he just… doubles over in hysterical laughter. He’s laughing so hard that tears are streaming down his face and he can’t catch his breath right… but… _oh god. OF ALL THE FUCKING NAMES. JAMES!!_ It couldn’t be more perfect. Steve just. Keeps. Laughing. 

Wilson stands and pats at the top of Steve’s head. 

“Okay then, I’ma leave you to your mini breakdown for a moment, but you got 15 until we need to be back out the door to assist with rescue and cleanup.”

Steve hadn’t even felt the jet touch down, he’d been laughing too hard. He lifts his head in time to watch the gurney get rolled by him and down the ramp. Bucky strapped securely in. _(Oh Lord. James.)_ Steve laughs again as he stands and wipes the tears off his face with his fingers. His helmet appears before him, with Natasha attached to it and giving him an assessing look. 

“You okay, Rogers?”

Steve grins at her as he snags the helmet and trots down the ramp. 

“I’m great. I’m fucking _fantastic_!” 

*****

The next time Steve has a minute to himself, he’s standing under the spray in one of the Compounds locker room showers letting the hot water beat down on him. Eight hours of rescue and cleanup, following fourteen hours of fighting, following finding your maybe boyfriend _(possibly soulmate)_ near death’s door under a collapsed building. 

_Steve is fucking fried._

He is just so absolutely exhausted that he’s pretty sure even the syrum has told him to fuck off and recuperate from this bullshit on his own. He wants to fall asleep so badly, but not as badly as he wants to head straight up to Bucky’s room. 

JARVIS had kept him updated on progress while they were away, and for all intents and purposes, Bucky has pulled through like a champ. He’s been really fucking lucky, but there was still a lot of recovery in his future. Steve idly wonders if he will be as shitty a patient as Steve himself is. Something’s telling him there’s a battle of wills on the horizon. And he’s kinda looking forward to it. 

“You gonna use up all my hot water, Rogers?”

Steve turns his head, and Tony’s in the shower stall next to his, fully clothed and partially hanging over the tile divider with a smirk on his face. Tony’s eyes flick down briefly before they’re up meeting Steve’s gaze again… and then he waggles his eyebrows lewdly. Steve laughs and shuts off the water. When he reaches for his towel to dry off his face and hair, Tony obviously takes the action as freedom to continue leering and talking simultaneously. 

“I took the liberty of ordering some Get Well Soon flowers for your boyfriend’s room. Or, well, Pepper did… but I helped, too. Betcha can’t figure out which I got for him.”

Steve highly doubts that. 

“Anywho… Dr. Cho says he’s doing really well. Still stable. No longer a shish-ka-bob. Internals still internal. She’s expecting him to wake up within the hour, so I figured I’d come tell you to get a wiggle on. I was being very altruistic. The soft-core porn show was just a bonus.”

Steve snorts and wraps the towel around his waist. Tony makes a sad noise and follows along behind him as they move back into the locker room proper. The Captain America uniform is gone, and instead there’s a pair of tan sweatpants and a white t-shirt folded up on the bench where it had previously been. Steve turns back to Tony and raises a single eyebrow. Tony shrugs and shoves his hands in his pants pockets. 

“Figured you’d be going straight up there, and you might want to be comfortable. I made sure the shirt was a size too small, and no undies… commando in the sweatpants. Give your boy a show, he’s been wounded.”

“TONY!”

Apparently Steve’s outrage is hilarious, because Stark only cackles and then waves as he scurries out of the room. Steve stands there for a moment in disbelief… but then eventually decides that he’s too tired to really care and gets dressed in the clothes Stark brought him. He feels really fucking weird walking through the compound with nothing on under the pants, but he just wants to get to Bucky’s room and relax. The effort to hunt down underwear is beyond him at this point. _(And if anyone gives him a wide-eyed doubletake between here and there, he’ll just pretend he doesn’t notice.)_

When he steps into the half-lit room, Steve sighs and shakes his head. He can see Pepper’s attempt to be tasteful… but Tony has just blown it away with kitch and color. Everything is either some variation of red, white, and blue… or colored and shaped like the Iron Man suit. There’s a six-foot-tall Captain America teddy bear in the corner and a massive banner reading _‘Get Well Soon, Buckaroo.’_ With a smaller one beneath asking _‘Can I build you an arm? Check yes or no.’_ with two small boxes… both with the word YES next to them. 

Steve sighs and marches over to the banners. He grabs the red marker that’s dangling from the smaller one and writes _‘This is not how you bring up this subject, Tony’_ along the bottom. With that done, he finally turns to the occupant in the bed and lets out a relieved sigh. 

Bucky appears to be resting peacefully. He looks clean and warm, some color back in his face instead of the horrible pallid gray he’d been when Steve found him. All traces of blood have vanished, and it even looks like someone may have washed and brushed his hair. There’s a comfortable-looking chair pulled up next to the bed with a large bottle of water and some packaged sandwiches waiting on the seat. 

He’s not sure which of his teammates left them, but they’re currently his favorite. His stomach rumbles loudly as if to agree, so he snags up the food and drink, plops himself into the chair and scarfs everything down in about thirty seconds. When he’s finished, Steve reaches over to carefully pick up Bucky’s hand. The swelling has gone down, and there are still some bruises and scrapes… but no splints. So at least it hadn’t broken. He winds their fingers together and slowly leans forward to rest his head on the bed. He has the beginning of a thought that maybe he can just rest his eyes for a few moments… and then… he just…………. 

“Hey, Asshole.”

Steve startles awake and pops his head up instantly. He doesn’t remember falling asleep… and his brain is kind of fuzzy… what was he…? OH. He blinks a couple times and then realizes he’s staring into Bucky’s alert _(and amused)_ eyes… and he can feel the absolutely goofy smile that erupts on his face. The soft smile that Bucky returns is bordering on the edges of goofy, too, so Steve doesn’t mind so much. 

“Hey, yourself, jerk. How are you feeling?”

Bucky shrugs his good shoulder and his gaze sweeps the room quickly before returning to Steve. 

“Not feeling much of anything at the moment. What the fuck is all this?”

Steve laughs and smirks. 

“That would be Tony. Sam did warn you.”

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound as he takes in the room again, eyes landing on the giant bear and sticking there. 

“Yeah, wow… I’m fucking keeping that thing.”

Steve probably shouldn’t feel as pleased by that as he does, but… eh… why not. It’s a giant representation of himself, after all. He clears his throat, and waits until Bucky turns back to meet his gaze again. 

“Did you really… not know?”

The other man groans and closes his eyes, head back on his pillow and throat bared. Steve finds himself staring at his Adam’s apple as it bobs when Bucky speaks. 

“No… although now it’s really fucking obvious and I feel like an idiot. But… I dunno… I was half-dead in a VA hospital when they found you, and after that… the news was just too triggery for me. I’ve been happily keeping my head ostriched in the sand for years, Steve. I guess I just… never paid too close attention. Sorry.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. Realizes he’s still holding Bucky’s hand and begins to fiddle softly with his poor bruised fingers. 

“Don’t apologize! It was great! I told you, that was the best part about meeting you… you were a total asshole to me. Made my day.”

Bucky snorts. He tilts his head to the side and is openly staring at Steve again. It causes Steve to pink a little in his cheeks and ears, _damn his fair skin_. Bucky must notice, because his grin widens and he grips at Steve’s fingers to halt his mindless motions. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Stevie.”

Steve smiles and ducks his head, glances back up at Bucky through his eyelashes. 

“Maybe. Wanna be ridiculous with me?”

The look that warms Bucky’s face at that request gives Steve immediate butterflies low in his belly. And his voice is honey smooth when he answers. 

“Yeah. Yeah, ya punk… sounds good.”

*****

Steve gets up some time later to pour Bucky something to drink… and the stupid sweatpants sans underwear had completely slipped his mind. Bucky sprays water everywhere and screeches for the whole Medical Ward to hear. 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, STEVE!”

Yeah… yeah he’s gonna owe Tony.

**~*~ The End ~*~**

**POST SCRIPT:**

**“Jimmy? Oh god, no that’s awful… why the hell would I ever go by Jimmy? Steve, your imagination is ridiculous.”**

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: August 2019:  
> Thank you to everyone for the wonderful reception this story has received.   
> Just a quick FYI: 
> 
> I WILL DEFINITELY CONTINUE THIS UNIVERSE!!!!! :) :) :)   
> I have plaaaaaaaans for these assholes. <3


End file.
